Fortuitous Encounters
by GuysitsKathrynPrescott
Summary: After being kicked out just after graduation for being gay two years ago, Emily is now a rebellious and reckless young woman living with her best friend. Trying to save up for uni is hard when you bring black eyes and bloody noses to any work interview you get. What happens when she's cornered by a familiar gang one night, but a mysterious blond dressed in black intervenes?
1. Chapter 1

**I'm new here, so any opinions are welcomed. I'm continuing this story whether I get any reviews or not. **

* * *

_Emily_

"And stop coming back!" She screams as she forces me out the door. If some dark cloud decided to hide the moon and all its light tonight, I would have tripped over the two steps leading to the front door and face planted right in the middle of the narrow, ice-covered path. Luckily for me, the moon and its army of stars are in my defense tonight.

She slams the door shut before I can reply to her command. I stare at the door after her for a few seconds with a look I'm sure must tell a story about how much I resent that woman. I shove my hands in the pockets of my old, beaten leather jacket and look up. I sigh, and watch my breath slowly makes its way up, towards the night sky. At least the stars seemed to be enjoying themselves.

"Emily!" Someone hisses at me from above. I look back at my old house to see James, my little brother, whispering at me from his bedroom window on the second floor, a contrite expression taking over his features. I only shrug.

"I'll be okay," I whisper back, "I always am. Just call me, yeah?"

He nods before closing the curtain. The lights in the room go out and I start making my way back to my flat. I hate my mother, I genuinely hate her. Jenna Fitch does not fucking rest. She kicked me out two years ago when I confessed I was gay; I had just graduated high school. She does not let me see my little brother, and if Katie, my twin, had not moved out as soon as she graduated too, I would not be allowed to see her either. Jenna's always on the look out to make sure I'm not contaminating James with my _'bad influence.'_ She thinks she knows her kids, thinks she knows what's best for us. That's just an example of how bloody dense she is. Katie and I know what it's like living with our mother, but we had each other, and we had dad. James has been alone with her for two years and he's still got at least one more before he's finished school. Katie and I are very protective of him. Actually, that's why I was there just a few minutes ago. James needed to talk to me; he's been getting bullied. However, before he had a chance to finish his confession, the bitch interrupted and threw me out. Cunt. Usually if James needs me I'll arrange for us to meet somewhere; I rarely chance coming over to see him, I only do that if it's urgent. Believe me when I tell you I'm going to hunt down those little shitheads and make them regret the day they decided to hurt my little brother.

The walk back to my flat is only a ten minute walk, but after that confrontation with Jenna, I need a break before I have to deal with Cook. He's my flat mate, by the way.

There's this cute little coffee shop on the way back to my flat called 'Courtney's Coffee.' I stop by when I need time to think; it's where I go when the world gets overwhelming, it's my bubble. One of my favorite aspects of this particular coffee shop is that it's open twenty-four-seven. It's convenient for someone who happens to be walking home at eleven O'clock at night in the middle of January. I always get a specific feeling of excitement in my chest when I see those familiar glass doors with the bright red frames.

I step inside and instantly welcome the calming sense of security that surrounds me every time I inhale the delicious smell of fresh coffee and baked goods that emits from this place. It's like wrapping yourself up in your favorite blanket that's come straight from the dryer. It's a temporary feeling, so you enjoy it as much as you can before it's gone.

If you've just walked through the door, the left side of the shop is all large windows looking out on the lonely streets of Bristol. Four square tables with two to four chairs and dark blue table cloths fill the space beside the giant window-wall. The right side of the shop consists of a big white wall with a few red-framed pictures of employees hung up in a perfect row. Four round tables are lined up evenly against the wall and the red and white checkered table cloths match the pictures and doors. One side of the shop intended for the all the teenagers going on dates, while the other intended for the people like me; the outcasts and underdogs searching for an escape. The floor is a light grey carpet that seems to tie everything together, even though it shouldn't. The service counter extends into the middle of the shop a little and always has a friendly face behind it.

"Hi there," The girl behind the counter greets me without taking her eyes off the notepad in her hands. I've seen her here a few times. I've never really talked to her, but her appearance makes her hard to forget; long, slightly curly, dark brown hair and distinct green eyes, like the ocean on a cloudy day.

"Can I get you anything?" She asks, finally looking up at me. As soon as her tired eyes meet mine, her smile morphs. One half of her mouth decisively drops into a straight line while the other half stays smiling. Her eyebrows draw the smallest bit closer together as she raises them slightly. It's making me seriously uncomfortable, specifically because I cannot understand _why_ she's looking at me like that. She must have noticed the dramatic change in atmosphere too because I blinked and the look was replaced by her welcoming smile, just as confident as before. She's waiting for my answer.

"Um, just tea," I clear my throat, "please."

She nods once in response before disappearing behind two small swinging doors behind her. Usually, at this time, this place is deserted except for whoever is working. However, tonight a man I've never seen before has decided to stop by at eleven O'clock to read his newspaper. He's sitting at one of the round tables with the red and white table cloths. When I pass him on my way to my usual seat at the far left of the room, he hardly blinks. You can only imagine my confusion when he approaches me, newspaper tucked neatly under his arm and a holding a to-go cup.

"Here kid," He says in his baritone voice while placing his cup down on my table. He looks like he's in his mid-twenties with short, styled, jet black hair, a stubble beard to match, and blue eyes so vibrant they should not be allowed on his face. He comes off as a little sketchy, but his eyes are too genuine for him to be dangerous. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a five dollar bill and places it down in front of me. I laugh a dull, humorless _ha _before sliding it back at him.

"I'm not homeless" I tell him.

He chuckles and sits down in the chair across from me.

"Look," He starts, "eventually, shit gets better, but it takes a bit of effort, yeah? You're going to fuck up a lot in your life kid and the people around you are going to fuck up a lot too. However, there is a trick to overcoming this part of your life and coming out on top. It's simple enough to understand but harder to do I'll grant you. Learning to recognize when you're fucking something up is easy, the difficult part is being brave enough to do something about it." He takes a sip from his to-go cup and continues with his little rant that makes absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever,

"So, you're going to accept that five dollars; buy another mug of tea with it, tip the pretty waitress, whatever you want. All you have to do is grow a pair and things will get better," Standing up, he retrieves his cup and pushes in his chair, "I'm speaking from experience, trust me. I used to sit at the tables with the blue cloths too." He raises his eyebrows and gives me a pointed look. Next thing I know he's out the door, leaving behind nothing but the chime of the little bell, announcing his exit.

What the fuck? I do not remember strapping a sign to my head saying 'I'm homeless.' What is with these people? First the girl at the counter gives me this weird look, and then some random guy feels compelled to give me a life lesson speech. This is not what I come here expecting, I just want my tea and some peace.

Just then the waitress decides to emerge from behind the counter and start walking over to me with a little round cup of hot tea.

"Excuse me Miss," She says, placing down my tea and taking away my hope for some alone time. "I don't mean to pry," She averts her eyes and squirms uncomfortably under my gaze before continuing, "but is there anything I could get you, you know, for your eye?"

Oh yeah, I forgot about that.

* * *

Did I mention how bloody cold it is outside? This leather jacket is not doing it for me.

Ok, first thing you need to know is that my mother did not hit me. She slaps me sometimes but she would never leave a black eye. After I brushing off the waitress and finishing my tea, I got out of Courtney's Coffee as quick as I could. Although the warm, calming feeling I get from that place instantly vanished, along with my mood, when I was reminded of the hideous dark purple bruise outlining my left eye, I regret leaving, only because now I'm stuck walking home in this lower than fucking negative eighty-two degrees temperature. I didn't bother covering up my eye before I left to see James. It was pitch black out when I left my flat, no one would have seen me, so I didn't bother. The disaster with Jenna distracted me enough that it totally escaped my mind when I entered the shop. At least it explains the weird look and random speech. That girl- Charlie, I read her name tag when she gave me my tea -her smile, I understand now; pity, she pitied me. The man too, except he assumed I _got_ myself into problems that ended with me earning a black eye. I'm not new to fighting people; I'm actually a fantastic street fighter. I have to be, there's a lot of condescending people out there who happen to think they can treat me like shit. After the horrible experience of having to tolerate Jenna Fitch as a teenager, you think I'm going to let anyone think they can treat me like that again? I don't think so. However, I assure you, this black eye, along with a few scratches and cuts, was not my fault. I didn't go asking for this one, oh no, this was the work of the ever-so-lovely Candice.

Pink Cowardly Candice with no last name, that's all I know. She's got this group of minions that follow her around everywhere, three other nameless girls, and they all look identical. Long, straight, dark brown hair tied up in a high ponytail and these tremendously distracting pink leather jackets that they all wear. A small, golden 'M' is stitched into the back of each one. I assume it's probably the symbol for a gang they represent. The only way I can tell Candice apart from the others is by her hair, it has a ginger tint to it. I only know her name because one of her loyal followers accidentally let it slip once. I'm telling you, I could destroy Candice with the flick of my fingers, but as tough as I am, I can't take on four at once. She's a coward and she knows it. She just watches as the other three obey her every command to pound on me, only joining in when I'm almost unconscious. She'd be dead without them to hide behind.

I always wonder why I never see them around, parading the streets in their 'oh so intimidating' pink jackets. When they started coming after me I would go out every day in search of that annoying brown ponytail with the ginger streaks but regardless of where I went or how many times I went there, they were nowhere to be found. Eventually I gave up and just learned to prepare myself for when they would come. They come after me at a random time every fucking week, and I have no idea when to expect it. It all started around four, maybe five months ago. When she first confronted me, I remember her saying 'Hey, Fitch' to get my attention. She knows me, she knows who I am, and to this day I still have no idea how.

"Hey, Fitch"

I freeze, but not out of fear. They don't scare me like they think they do; they don't scare me at all. I slowly turn around and am met by none other than, you guessed it, Candice. Speak of the devil. Instead of three others there is only one girl with her tonight. However, Candice knows she needs at least two on her side to stand a chance; the others are around here somewhere.

"Candice," I nod and give her my best challenging smile, "Nice night out, don't you reckon?"

"Oh yeah," She takes a few steps towards me, causing me to take a few steps back. "Just dark enough that no one will notice when you suddenly disappear off the streets." She smiles a wicked, fake pity smile, "Oh, but then again, no one would really notice anyway, would they, Hun?"

That's the thing about Candice, she may hide behind her clones but she knows exactly what words to use.

"Fuck off," I warn her, my face hardening.

"Hmmm," she pretends to think, "Not yet."

You'd think it would take more than getting pulled in against my will to notice I was standing right next to a dark, vacant alley crammed between two motels.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" I protest as they drag me deeper into the alley. When we stop near the end, the two girls that pulled me in hold my arms behind my back while Candice and her other clone slowly approach me.

"Oh," Candice begins, "Poor little lonely Emily." She punches me hard in the stomach and I lurch forward, letting out an _oof _sound_._ "Just wishing mommy would love her," She continues. Reaching under my chin, she lifts my face before punching me in the nose. I taste blood more than feel it. "No daddy to run to and an older sister that doesn't have time for her anymore," Her fist connects with the left side of my face with a _crack_. "Just a scared little girl, all on her own, pretending not to care," She sticks out her bottom lip, mimicking a pout, before stepping away and laughing a laugh that sounds more like a cackle. The two girls restraining me kick my legs out from under me and let go of my arms, dropping me to the ground. Anyone witnessing this gang beating would think this is the part where they spit on me and walk away. Not a chance. In reality, this is the part where I get the living shit kicked out of me.

And kick the living shit out of me they did.

I curled into my default position as I felt the first boot to my lower back. I tuck my knees up to my chest and put my hands on the back of my neck, crouching into myself. What more can I do? The only strand of dignity I have to hold on to at this point is not screaming. Out of all the times they have come after me I have _never_ cried, pleaded, or begged. I refuse to give them that satisfaction.

Normally when they start kicking me it goes on for at least five minutes. However, tonight, apparently, is not one of those nights. The kicking stops as quickly as it began and I can hear strange grunts and small yells coming from all different directions. Are they fighting each other? No, that cannot be it, they are not that thick. I never risk exposing my face until I know that they are gone. It's not worth it; one good kick is all it takes. However, I never hear the sound of Candice calling off her girls and fleeing a fight either.

"Fuck this! C'mon girls, we're done here!"A voice that is unmistakably Candice yells, followed by, what sounds like, multiple, quick footsteps. Are they actually running away? What? Why?

I cautiously move my arms and lift my head to look around. They really did run away, there is no one in sight. I get to my feet as fast as I can; no need to be vulnerable any longer than necessary. I brush myself off and wipe the blood under my nose away with my index finger. Everything is still, the only thing I can hear is the sound of the melted snow dripping from the rooftops and landing in their own little puddles on the ground. The moon is not providing enough light for me to see far enough down the alley; Candice and her clones could still be here. I start walking tentatively towards one of the walls, if I stay close and if they are really gone, I will be able to navigate my way through the dark, to the other end, and back to the sidewalk. Just as I touch the wall the consuming silence is interrupted by a light blowing sound. It's coming from behind me and it's getting louder and closer each second. I turn around just in time to duck as a black figure lands perfectly, without stumbling, right on top of a dumpster that was behind me. Where the fuck did that come from?!

"What the fuck!?" I voice my confusion.

Whoever it is just remains crouching on top of the dumpster, not moving a muscle or making a sound, and stares back at me. I cannot make out any detail of their appearance, it's too dark. A few seconds go by before whoever just came out of nowhere decides to answer.

"Right," female, that is a female's voice, "Sorry about that, didn't mean to startle you." She said in a flat tone.

She hops off the dumpster and walks into what little light the moon is providing. Tall, she's tall, beats me by about half a head. She's wearing all black, including a ski mask with only two holes for her to see out of. Her whole attire is black; black sweats, a black hoodie, even black gloves. I'm having one weird ass fucking day.

"Oh yeah, fuck, sorry," she sighs and grabs the bottom of her mask and pulls it over her head, "You alright?"

Blue. Blue eyes like ice but not cold. Beautiful. Beautiful blue eyes like ice but not cold. Blond too, she's got peroxide blond hair that extends to about an inch below her shoulders. Her nose is pointy and it suits her and she's got beautiful blue eyes. Fuck sakes Emily, snap out of it.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demand. That's more like it.

"Hmm, good question," she turns and leans against the wall beside me, "Who am I?" She asks, looking at me seriously.

I have no answer to that so I just continue staring at her. Eventually she breaks the silence,

"Sorry I took a while, I had to follow those girls, you know, make sure they didn't come back. How's your eye?" She asks, still just as serious as before.

"Okay, hang on, what!? Who are you? And where the actual fuck did you come from?" This is getting beyond fucking weird.

Her expression changes from serious to slightly amused. She points up and my eyes follow her finger's path.

"Hang on…" I start; she did not actually just jump from the roof, did she? "Are you trying to tell me you just jumped from that roof, twenty feet up, to that dumpster right there?" I pointed towards the now dented dumpster.

"Good job." She says and pats the top of my head. Normally that would piss me off, but I'm too confused to care.

"Why?" I ask.

"Why what?"

"Why'd you chase them off?" Why would she help me? She has never met me.

"Well, you were kind of getting the shit kicked out of you, I thought I would offer some assis-"

"I can take care of myself." I interrupt; I'm not a charity case.

"Fine," She pushes off the wall and makes two steps before I interject again.

"Hang on, you still haven't told me who you are, and what's with the mask?"

Instead of responding she just turns and starts walking backwards towards the end of the alley I was just dragged from. She slips her mask back on as she goes.

"You didn't see me." I barely make out what she says as it's muffled out from behind her mask.

"What?" I say for the umpteenth time. "What the hell? Who are you!?" I yell.

She slips into the darkness so stealthily it looks like she just teleported. I run towards her, to stop her, but when I reach the area she was just standing in no longer than sixty seconds ago, she's gone. I scan the area numerous times, where did she go? I search my way back to the street I was abducted from half an hour ago. She's vanished. I have no other option but to go home. As I take my first step in the direction of my flat, I step on something hard enough that I noticed stepping on it. I move my foot to reveal a small, delicate, silver necklace, sprawled out on the cement. I pick it up and look at it more closely. Centered in the thin, silver chain is a large, shiny, dark grey ring. Is this hers? I have no clue, but I pocket it anyway before finally heading home.

* * *

As I unlock the door to mine and Cook's flat the stench of booze and weed instantly intrudes my nostrils. Fucking Cook. Is it so much to ask for him not to destroy our flat for just one night? I mean, this is _Cook's _flat, he does pay for it- Although he would not be able to without the help of his sleazy uncle Keith. That man is one impressive drug trafficker and has definitely taught Cook everything he knows. –but you would think he could clean his shit up once in a while. Cook took me in when Jenna disowned me. We went to high school together for a few years, but only really connected when I started having problems with my mum. Cook was there, he was someone I could relate and to turn to. He understood and always sided with me, and that's what I needed. I needed someone to defend me, someone who would fight with me and take my side for a change. When Cook and I became friends, I was not alone anymore, and he did the best he could to make sure I forgot about everything that had to do with Jenna Fitch. It involved a lot of pills, alcohol and sex. Now, we still take pills, drink alcohol, and go to clubs and have competitions to see who can pull first, but it's not about forgetting anymore, we just do it for the fuck of it. I love him like hell for everything he's done for me, do not get me wrong, but the boy cannot clean to save his life.

"Cook!" I call into the seemingly deserted flat. "Cook!" I try again after hearing no answer the first time.

I take off and hang up my jacket, making sure to grab the necklace from the pocket, before going to investigate. Every room is empty, he must be out. I walk into my room, which is actually decently tidy compared to the rest of the flat, and change out of my clothes. Once I'm in a pair of clean underwear and an oversized t-shirt, I make my way to the bathroom. I cringe at the sight of myself in the mirror; sunken eyes, smeared make-up, dried blood, bruises and cuts. I sigh before turning the tap to warm and splashing my face with water. After clearing my face of make-up and dried up blood, I just look bruised and tired. I slump back to my room with the necklace in my hand, close my door, flick the light off and crash onto my bed. I pull my blankets up and place the necklace on my bedside table. I'll look at it better tomorrow. Maybe it did belong to the mysterious blond with the beautiful blue eyes. Who was she?

* * *

**If anyone who's interested in this story would like me to add music for future chapters, just let me know. Next chapter might not be up for a while, but who knows?**

**~Shae.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm sorry this took so long to upload. I have this story all planned out but I'm writing it as I go, and well, there's school and friends and blah, blah, blah. Anyway, schools almost over so, hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently. Thank you so much for the reviews I got. I know it's not a whole lot but it really encouraged me, so thank you. Enjoy :)**

* * *

_Naomi_

"Shit!" I curse as I slam my fists against the wall.

I'm so bloody stupid! Two years! _Two years_ I've had this job. Two years of being put in spontaneous, high pressure situations without making a mistake. Oh, except, of course, forgetting to take off my father's necklace before work. I've never forgotten to take it off before putting on my uniform, it's a part of my routine; take off dads necklace _before_changing into anything else. However, despite my disbelief, I know I forgot to take it off last night. It must have unclipped at some point while I was chasing those girls.

"What is it?" Effy asks from where she's perched on the end of my bed. Her typical flat tone gives the usual impression that she's bored because she already knows the answer to the question she's just asked.

"I've lost Dad's necklace," I admit dejectedly before walking across my room and sitting beside her.

She sits still, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, as the edges of her mouth start to quirk up slightly. This hint of a smirk can only mean one thing; whatever argument-like conversation we're about to have, she's going to win.

"It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with where you were last night, would it?"

I sigh, "Effy, I was working last night."

I trust Effy with my life, but regardless of that trust there are still things I keep to myself, out of habit I suppose, and she knows when I'm doing it. Keeping anything to yourself isn't easy when Elizabeth Stonem is your best friend. This girl can read and understand any human being she wants because she's that observant. Living a life of silence might be considered horribly lonely to some, but being lonely is nothing new to Effy. Besides, Effy could piece you together and steal your deepest secrets, or break you down using your biggest fears against you, just by watching. That's what she does, she watches.

I'm resentful about telling her what happened with the redhead last night, which is pointless because she'll get it out of me anyway. If anything interesting happens at work I always tell Effy about it. She's the only one I have to tell, no one else in my life knows who I really am or what I really do. Not my mum, not… Well that's the only other person really. Eff's not the only one used to being alone.

What I do is dangerous; it pays extremely well, hence the flat I share with my best friend, but there's a reason Effy is the only one who knows the details of my life. Basically, the less you know the safer you are with me. If someone can identify me and they aren't family, a friend, or a coworker, I'm in trouble. The more you know the more danger you're in. Effy's safe as long as I'm around, I'll never let anything happen to her, and if I'm not around, she's still safe because that'll be the only reason what I do will put her in danger; people will use her to get to me. That's why I can't have everyone knowing who I am or let anyone get close, why I can't tell my own mother that I work for the FBI. It's a very secretive and reserved life style; Effy's an exception.

"Spill, Campbell." She's not even looking at me when she says it.

See? There's no point, she's fucking psychic.

I bring her up to speed on what happened last night. She nods occasionally as I rant on about how I've never seen a gang in pink leather jackets before and how I know taking off my mask last night was a rookie mistake. Obviously I can't get around totally undetected by all of Bristol but I stay under the radar. No partying, unless it's just Eff and I, never stopping at the same shops or restaurants more than a few times. Anywhere where people might start noticing me regularly is avoided until my presence is forgotten. Otherwise, to everyone else, I'm just a stranger. Last night, however, I was thinking that the girl I helped was probably intoxicated, so she wouldn't remember our encounter, and even if she wasn't, it was too dark. She wouldn't have been able to see me well enough to recognize me if she ever saw me again. I was exhausted- Kieran usually makes me work late so I don't get a whole lot of sleep -and careless because of it. I'm still beating myself up, but I'm probably overreacting. I'll never see that girl again in my life.

I hope.

"C'mon, get your shit," Effy leaps up, distracting me from my thoughts. "We're going to go search that alley."

Despite her annoying all knowing ways, I'm lucky to have Eff. I'm not so alone with her.

"Okay."

* * *

"Sweet," I hear Effy say after a few minutes of silent walking. She swiftly changes her direction and walks right into a little cafe with bright red door frames. The alley is just passed the next street, but I guess Effy wants some tea. I've never been inside it but I have noticed this small shop a few times; it's cute I guess.

"Courtney's Coffee?" I say once we're both inside.

She looks at me, "Yep."

I stare at her for a few seconds and eventually shrug.

"C'mon."

I lead her to the table in the far left corner of the shop, right next to the giant windows; out of all the tables that one looks more secluded.

"Eff, the alley is just passed the next street. You couldn't have waited until after we looked for some tea?" I ask once we're seated.

"Nope," she smiles innocently.

Don't ask. When it all comes down to it there's a reason for everything Effy does. It's easier to just go with it. We sit in comfortable silence for a bit, I'm looking outside, watching as it starts to rain, while Eff is probably analyzing and deciding if she likes this place or not. It is a cute little diner, I'll admit. It's kind of tacky, the way it's set up with blue taking over one half of the room and red taking up the other, but it fits. The only weird aspect of this small café is how it's making mefeel. I'm on red alert everywhere I go, but I don't feel like I have to be on my guard in here. I'm content in this place; I'm never content.

I look away from the rain that's now starting to come down harder and see a waitress with long, slightly curly brown hair walking towards our table. Her eyes are a distinct green color that reminds me of something but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. I smile lightly at her once she's closer.

"Can I get you two anything?" She asks nicely.

"Just tea for us, thanks," says Effy.

The waitress smiles, turns, and goes back behind the counter and I go back to watching the rain.

"What'd she look like?"

I look away from the rain again and start playing mindlessly with a loose thread on the end of the navy blue table cloth.

"I guess I didn't really think about it" I start, trying to remember any details. "Her hair was red, a really vibrant, noticeable red. I guess she was pretty small but she had a build that was still intimidating enough. I don't know Eff; I couldn't see her very well, not to mention I had a mask on a majority of the time."

"Did she…" I tune her out; something in this coffee shop just shifted. Something's off.

I quickly scan the area. It's no different than it was two minutes ago, but something _feels_ different.

I look at Effy, "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I said," she pauses, "did she happen to look like that?" She points at the door with her thumb without having to look at where she's pointing. The little bell on the door that rings every time someone opens it jingles at the exact same time.

That's her.

Wow.

Imagine, if just for a second, that everything in existence froze and all you could see is what you were looking at just before time stopped. That one image set there, stock still and permanent, but you don't care that it's the last thing you'll ever see because what you're looking at is so breathtaking that never being able to see anything else wouldn't be so bad. And during this frozen moment in time the only thing you can feel is your heart; a slow, repetitive _thump_that flows through your entire body each time, gracing you one other thing to focus on, because if you focused all your attention towards that one image, it would drive you insane.

That's how I feel right now.

She looks different. Her black eye is gone- or covered up -and her clothes aren't ripped or dirty. I was being honest when I said I couldn't see her well last night; this is the first time I'm properly seeing her. I swear, I'm not being a sappy 'love at first sight' person like my mum, I don't even believe in that bollocks. Everything I just said, I felt.

She stops in front of the door after she enters, like Effy and I did. Her expression changes from one of relief to slight confusion, like someone just gave her some tea but it tasted like coffee. I silently watch her as she stands there, probably- judging by her expression -deep in thought; Effy's watching me from across the table.

"Yeah," I whisper at her without taking my eyes off the zoned redhead, "she looked a little like that."

Suddenly, the dazed girl standing by the door snaps her head in my direction and looks me dead in the eyes; for the first time in a long time, I'm surprised.

"Eff," I whisper, "I need to get out of here." I take my eyes off the girl for the first time to look at my best friend, "Now."

The redhead doesn't waste any time and storms towards us, her hard glare set firmly on me. Luckily, she doesn't reach us before I catch Effy nod once at me. She understands.

"You," the girls says once she's towering over me.

"Me," I reply, staring up at her.

"Right," she places her hands on the table so she's towering over me more, "who the fuck are you and why do you keep randomly appearing in my life?" She doesn't sound as intimidating or mad as I thought she would. She sounds stressed and impatient.

I know what I'm going to say next is a bad idea, it will only piss her off, but I can't help myself.

"Good question," I make a small 'not bad' face, "who am I?"

Effy chuckles once and I'm standing up before the redhead can reply. She steps in front of me, she's about half a head shorter than me but I admire her determination.

"Interesting," Effy says from where she's sitting; neither of us acknowledges it.

"I don't think so," the fiery redhead says as she stands her ground.

I just smile a small, mischievous smile in response. Here we go.

I wait half a second and in the time it takes her to blink I'm around her and out the door, the faint chime of the little bell rings behind me. I know she's chasing me, I expected her too, but I do this almost every day, she won't catch me.

I bolt passed the next street and turn down the alley that happens to be where I keep ending up. I know it's a dead end but I turned down it for a reason. On the side of the motel I didn't jump from last night there's a fire escape. The bottom stair is quite high up, but that's another thing I'm trained in; jumping. Also, it's sure fire way out because I'll be able to reach it and the persistent redhead behind me won't.

I make sure I have enough momentum before reaching the end of the alley and putting my master plan into action. The dumpster I dented last night is still there. Perfect. I jump atop it while going full speed and use the rest of my momentum to half climb, half jump up the wall it's pushed up against, ultimately allowing me to grab onto the last stair of the fire escape I knew was there and pull myself up. I'm half way to the roof by the time the redhead gets to the dumpster.

"Shit!" I hear her yell, followed by a loud thump. I think she just punched the dumpster.

I slow my pace, it's not like she'll catch me now anyway. It only takes me a few seconds to get to the top, and when I do, I let out the breath I should have lost during that run. I give myself a few minutes to rest before leaving. I can still feel some adrenaline pumping through my veins. It's only eleven o'clock, not even noon yet, and look at the shit I get into.

* * *

It takes me fifteen minutes to get to my complex. I took a bit of a longer way back, just in case. I make my way through the front doors and up the stairs- I never use the elevator -to mine and Effy's flat on the fifth and highest floor.

I open our door to Effy perched on our couch with a mug of tea- Effy loves tea –and watching some comedian on the telly. She looks at me when I come in and smiles a tiny, amused smile before averting her attention back to the Television.

"Shut up."

"Nice run?" She asks, still watching the comedian.

I don't answer as I go and hang up my jacket. Effy and I keep our flat relatively clean, at least that's _something_organized in my life. I enter the kitchen and pour myself a mug of tea from the pot Effy's already made. We did, after all, have to leave before getting served at Courtney's Coffee. I take my tea and go back to the living room to join Eff on the couch.

"What the fuck are you watching?" I say when the man starts literally rolling around on the stage.

"Good question, what am I watching?" Her body shakes with laughter as she mocks me.

Ha-fucking-ha.

"Oh you can just fuck right off," I say but there's no real venom in my words.

"Oh yeah, by the way," her laughter dies down, "I found your necklace."

I almost spill my tea in my lap. That's twice I've been surprised today.

"What the fucking-" I place my mug on the small glass table in front of the couch, "where!?"

"She had it," she says calmly.

"What? Who!? Effy, what the fuck?" She doesn't mean the redhead, does she? No, she can't, there's no way.

"The feisty redhead, she was wearing it," she says, still watching the ridiculous comedian. Cool as always. I'm freaking out and just about spilled my tea everywhere and it doesn't even faze her.

"You're lying." I won't believe it. I mean, it is possible; she could have found it last night and picked it up. But why would she be wearing it? Fuck, who knows. That's not important now anyways. If this _is_ true, then that means…

"Guess you're going to have to find her again."

Fuck.

* * *

**I hope this chapter meets satisfactory. Once again, all opinions are welcomed. Thanks for reading!**

**~Shae.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone, sorry for the wait. This chapter is a little longer than the last. I intended for it to show you a little more depth on Emily. Her relationship with Katie, how she feels about Freddie, her interest in music, and most importantly, her relationship with Cook. I wanted to emphasize that Cook is really all she has right now. Anyway, to the people who have reviewed, favorited, followed, or anyone giving my story a chance, thank you so much. I can't tell you how much it means. Enjoy :) **

* * *

_Emily_

…_Bzzz…Bzzz...Bzzz…Bzzz…_

I'm pretty sure that's my phone buzzing on my bedside table. This is the fourth time it's gone off so that means its Katie. She's so fucking impatient. It's not exactly like she expects me to be sleeping at seven in the morning.

Mine and Cook's flat is on the fourth floor so when the sun comes up in the morning it shines through all the front windows. Right now it's casting light gold streaks across my room, going all the way to the end of my bed. There hasn't been a sign of the sun for the past few weeks with this winter weather; hopefully it'll melt the rest of the ice while it's here.

It's nice, our flat. It's a lot better than living with Jenna. Grant you, the only reason Cook can afford this place is because he sells a shitload of drugs that he gets from Keith. Neither of us have a job. I've been working my ass off to find a local one, but every time I show up for the interview I usually have a wound of some kind on my face, so they decline me.

I'm trying to save up for uni; I've already taken two years off because I can't afford it yet. I've got a few thousand in an old bank account, that Jenna can't access, but it's not nearly enough to get me into the school I want. There's a school in London, a music school. Music is all I want to do. It's the only thing I'm good at, and the only thing that's mine. Becoming a performer would be nice. It'd be a big fuck you to all the people who assumed the worst of me or told me I'd amount to nothing. However, it's not my biggest ambition. Teaching music or just having more knowledge and experience with it, that's good enough for me. I can play any instrument if I want. I used to have a piano at Jenna's but when she kicked me out I could only rescue my guitar, so that's all I have now. Although he'd never admit it, Cook loves it when I play for him, sometimes he even sings with me.

My phone rings for the fifth time. She'll never stop. I grunt into my pillow and stubbornly reach my hand out towards where I think my phone is. I slap the table a few times before finally landing on my phone. Rolling onto my side, I press talk.

"Fucks sake, what is it Katie? You realize it's seven in the morning, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, it sure took long enough to wake you the fuck up. I figured you'd be sneaking out of some slags room anyway."

I used to pull as many girls as I could when I went out with Cook. I would end up at a different girl's house almost every night, but I stopped. I still don't know why, It just wasn't fun anymore. I haven't slept with someone in a few months.

"Actually, if you must know, I haven't been sleeping around all that much." Not that she'd believe me.

"Oh yeah, I bet."

Told you.

"Katie, I know it's hard for you to believe, but not everyone has the same level of need for sexual activity as you and your boy toy."

Katie and her boyfriend, Freddie, have been dating for about five and a half months now, she lives with him too. I hate him. She's fucking head over heels for him and he seems to make her happy, but besides that, I despise everything about him.

"Oh for fucks sake, again Emily? Can't you at least pretend being nice to him for one fucking day?"

Katie knows I don't approve.

"Nope."

Not that that'll change anything.

"Why not? What's he ever done to you? He likes you! He's nice to you even when you treat him like shit Emily."

Oh god, if I had a dime for every time my sister has used that one I'd be fucking rich. Like I care if he likes me or not. I can't stand his cocky attitude or his fucking smug smirk that I want to punch off his face.

"I've told you a hundred times Katie, I don't need a reason to dislike someone. I get a bad vibe from him."

"Whatever. Look, I called for a reason. Can you meet me?"

Is she serious?

"Katie, let me just say again… Seven in the fucking morning!"

"I have to talk to you!"

"Why can't you just tell me over the phone?"

"Alright, fuck, so I kind of wanted to see you because I miss you. You came over to see James two days ago while I was out. I missed you again."

Oh.

I sigh, "Sorry Katie," I rub my eyes and throw off my blanket. With a grunt of effort, I get myself into a sitting position. "Meet me at the park in half an hour?"

"Thanks Emily."

Sometimes it surprises me how much Katie's changed since high school.

"I'm always here for you," I assure her just like I assured James two nights ago.

"I know. See you in a bit."

There's a faint click and the line goes dead. I put my phone back down and get up to go make some coffee.

The only distinction between our kitchen and living room is the flooring- and the furniture too, obviously -the kitchen is all checkered tile while the living room is a dark blue carpet. A giant window takes up most of the living room wall; the sun comes through it the most. With the sun shining through this early in the morning, our living room could make an outstanding picture. Except for Cook passed out on the couch with scattered beer cans all around him. That ruins is a bit. He couldn't make it to his room last night apparently. He's sprawled out on the couch, snoring like a fucking lion, and he's left beer cans all over the fucking floor again. He can keep himself perfectly showed and fresh but when it comes to putting the same effort into our living environment? Forget it.

I turn back to the coffee pot after dumping in all the water and flick the on button. As I lean on the counter and wait for the coffee to heat up I absent-mindedly touch the necklace I shamefully wore to bed last night.

I saw her again yesterday. Now I know she doesn't want to be seen. She fucking ran away from me! Like properly bolted, out the door, onto the sidewalk, down the alley, and _poof_, gone. I know how she manages to disappear now too. She doesn't_,_ she's just fast. I went back to Courtney's after she got away to see if the other mysterious girl with the long, dark hair that was with her would still be there. She wasn't.

I can't stop thinking about her. Why did she run? Why can everyone else talk to her except me? Why did she fight off Candice the first night we met? Why won't she tell me her name? Why _me_? And those are just the questions. I thought she was stunning when I saw her in the alley, but that was in the dark, through tired eyes. Not to mention she was sweaty and covered in black. When I saw her properly for the first time in my coffee shop, regardless of my reputation of fucking girls and leaving them- so, in a nutshell, I don't _do_ feelings –something unexpected happened. It was literally like time stopped and for a few brief seconds it was just us in that shop, everything else slowly fading away more the longer we held each other's gaze.

This is bad. I don't allow these thoughts. I don't need anybody else, it's me and Cook against the world. Plus, who would want me anyway? I'm trouble, nothing but a burden. Not to mention, if I did end up finding a girl, I'll probably just hurt her. Not because I want to either, I just will because hurt is a packaged deal with me. You'll get it whether you want it or not.

A loud snort coming from Cook and the smell of hot coffee brings me back to reality. No more letting her distract me.

I pour two cups, one for me with two scoops of sugar and some cream and one for Cook with nothing. He's going to need it since he's waking up. I walk into the our living room, carefully balancing two full mugs, and sit down next to Cook as he gets himself into a sitting position. He rubs his eyes like I did this morning and accepts the mug I'm offering him with a tired grimace.

"Holy fuck, what time is it?"

"Bout seven," I gently touch his check where it's slightly swollen and purple, "you okay?"

He smiles a big, full, Cook smile, "I'm fucking fantastic Emilio! Bit of a hangover, but nothing the Cookie monster can't handle. What about you? You're eyes a little fucked; you get home okay last night?"

I didn't tell Cook about the anonymous blonde. I'm not ready to tell anyone else about her. I don't know as much as I'd like to yet. As for Candice, I've never told anyone about my unfortunate weekly encounters with them. Candice is my problem, nobody else's. I can handle it myself. Cook just thinks I get into bar fights or fall over too often when I'm drunk.

"I'm fine Cook; probably just fell over or something last night."

I put my coffee down on the table and wrap my arms around him from the side, resting my check on his broad shoulder. I feel him drop his head on top of mine to sort of hug me back.

"Play me a morning song?"

I love that I'm the only one who gets to see this side of him.

"I can't today, I have to go meet Katie," I let go of his neck and stand up. "Sorry Cookie."

I kiss his forehead and head to the shower.

* * *

Regardless of the sun that hasn't been overshadowed by a dark cloud yet, it's still freezing out. It's almost February, not that that's anything to look forward to; it'll still be cold out.

I'm sitting on an old bench that's been in this park since Katie and I were kids. Katie and I grew up here; we've lived in Bristol our whole lives. We both went to a local public high school and she's attending uni here too. I'd be attending London's Royal Academy of Music right now if Jenna hadn't intercepted. Shit, no thinking about her now, I'm having an okay day so far and I can't let Jenna ruin my mood. I haven't seen Katie in a while, now that I think about it. I miss her too.

"Ems!" She runs up to me.

I jump up off the bench as soon as I see her. I didn't know just how much I missed her until I see her.

"Katie!" I wrap my arms around her and we give each other a crushing hug.

"God, I missed you," she says as she pulls away. Her face drops when she see's mine. "Emily!" She cups my face in her hands. I grab her wrists and pry her fingers away from probing the now faint bruise around my eye.

"It's nothing," I turn my head to the side. I can't deal with the way she's looking at me.

"Oh, Emily," she grabs my hands and makes us both sit down. Tears are threatening to escape the corners of her eyes. "What's happened to you?"

"I'm still Emily, Katie." I grip her hands a little tighter and smile reassuringly at her.

She holds my gaze for a few seconds before sniffling once and wiping at the corners of her eyes. When her hands come back down to her lap she's smiling excitedly at me like nothing had happened.

"Right then, I have so many things to tell you. Get this…"

We continue talking about anything and everything. Discussing things from how she and Freddie are doing to what the newest trends are and so on. Katie doesn't see me much; she's always so busy with fucking Freddie, figuratively and literally. She just doesn't have a lot of time for me anymore. I know she loves me, I just wish I felt like she loved me more than Freddie. Lately I haven't been so sure.

After saying goodbye to Katie with another crushing hug and a tear or two from her, I make my way back home. Cook's still here when I come in, surprisingly enough. We only really see each other in the morning or at night; we're usually out together or on our own doing whatever the fuck we want. The perfect life for most people my age, and here I am, wanting to go to university. Figures.

"Ems! Just the bird I wanted to see! I've been waiting hours for ya. We're going out." Cook says after I close the door behind me.

I smile at him as I hang up my jacket. He's sat on the couch, shirtless, and it looks like he's cleaned up the beer cans he left lying around everywhere. A faint cloud of smoke coming from the ash tray on the table is hovering above his head and makes the suns beams coming through the window look foggy. There's some horrible sitcom playing on the telly in the background that I suppose he was watching while I was gone.

"Cook, it's one in the afternoon." He already wants to go out and get trashed. No rest for the wicked.

"Yeah? What's your point? I reckon we go to Keith's for a bit, just you and me, then hit a club. How about it lil red?"

Couldn't hurt I guess. Something to get fucking Fredric off my mind would be nice.

I shrug, "What the fuck."

He grins proudly at me as he jumps up off the couch, "That's my girl!"

* * *

We arrive at Keith's a few minutes later, the sun's still out, but it's still cold.

"Hello, Christina! Pour me and red here some drinks, would ya babe?" Cook insists the second we walk through the door.

I smile at Christina- she's just the bar maid that seems to be the only other employee at Keith's besides Keith himself -and follow Cook to our usual seat at the back.

"So, pull any last night?" I ask him with a teasing smile.

He winks at me, "obviously. What about you red? Been fucking long enough since we got you laid."

I laugh lightly as Christina puts a tray of four pints down in front of us. Cook takes a large gulp of his first one and belches. I don't touch mine.

"What's up with you?" He asks me, his eyebrows forming little worry squiggles.

I don't think he's talking about my lack of sexual activity.

"Nothing, I'm just a bit tired I guess. Early morning." I grab my first pint and take a long sip. Maybe that'll convince him a little more.

"Well, wake the fuck up Emilio man!" He downs the rest of his pint in one go and pats his stomach. He grins at me mischievously, "We've still got the rest of the day."

Two more pints and four hours later and Cook and I are ordering shots at a different bar. The stools are vibrating with every pulse of every beat coming from the massive sound system and there's sweaty, intoxicated bodies dancing everywhere. The strobe lights are all sorts of different colors, but other than the various color flashes everywhere, it's black. Cook gives me a signal with his thumb indicating that he's going to go dance. I nod and smile in response and order another shot of vodka as he disappears into the sea of chaos.

Something about that blond has thrown me off. Normally I'd be pissed out of my mind and grinding any girl who would allow it. But instead I'm sat at the bar, alone, thinking about a random girl who remains nameless. It's not like I didn't already have enough random nameless girls in my life. Don't get me wrong, I love going out with Cook, he taught me how to have fun when all I wanted to do was wallow away in a pit of my own misery. I just feel a little distracted. Something, anything, has to happen to take my mind off her.

A series of startled screams and vicious roars suddenly break out through the violent thump of the music.

Of course. I will bet you anything that's-

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME CUNT!"

I guess saving Cook's ass from a group of thugs is distracting enough.

I jump off the stool and shove my way through the mass of noise and movement until I get to where the thunderous threats are coming from. Two extremely pissed looking men about Cook's size have his arms pinned against his back while another one brings his arm back to throw, judging by Cooks bloody face, another punch. I have to act fast.

I walk up behind him calmly so I don't alert his buddies. I tap his shoulder and he spins around with an aggravated glare that turns into a disgustingly sleazy smirk when he sees me. His hair is dark brown and gelled back, with little curls sticking up just below his ears, it looks a bit like a mullet. He's a head and a half taller than me and he's wearing a sleek, silver tux that makes him look taller. Not that I'm intimidated.

I smile sweetly at him before flashing my eyes at Cook and catching him wink at me. My heart's beating at a, what has to be, unsafe speed as the brute takes a small step closer. I've grown out of a lot of things but I'll never grow tired of the thrill that is Cook and I acting spontaneously. Mullet head opens his mouth to probably try out a hopeless pick-up line or brag about how him and his buddies are currently beating up a lesser being, but all that comes out is a suppressed grunt because of how hard I've just sacked him. He drops to his knees and a mumbled 'fucking bitch' makes its way through his clenched teeth. By now Cook's knocked out one of the guys and I guess the other one pussied out because he's nowhere in sight. Cook's face is bloody as fuck which makes it look more brutal than it actually is. Once I get him home and wash it off he'll be fine. He's about to continue where he apparently left off before I grab his arm and drag him away from the caveman I just sacked. Cook could go all night but we're both wasted and delusional. It's time to go home.

We trip over our own feet as we make our way through damp streets that are, hopefully, leading us home. We're laughing so much it's hard to breathe.

"So I… I told him… I told him he could suck my cock... And he… He didn't accept my offer." Cook breathes out through his laughter.

"Oh my god Cook. I'm not always going to be around to save your ass, you know!" I tease him.

"Yeah you will," he lightly shoves my shoulder and smiles at me broadly; "It'll always be us against the world Em."

"Always," I smile genuinely at him. "Now, we're going home," I smack his butt, "move it!"

* * *

I head straight for the couch and collapse at the same time as Cook closes the door behind us. He walks over to join me, sinking into the cushions with a content sigh. I bring my knees up to my chest as we sit together, our breathing being the only sound in the room. Cook looks over at me with a conflicted expression, like he wants to ask me something but isn't sure if he should.

"Oh, out with it," I tell him.

He looks away for a second, the back again. "Think you could play me that song now?" His tone is soft.

People really shouldn't judge Cook so much by his first impression. He has his adorable moments.

I smile warmly at him before going to get my guitar. I know exactly what I'm going to play for him. When I come back out I sit in one of the chairs opposite him and rest my guitar on my lap. I know he likes this song.

I clear my throat and start gently strumming the acoustic version of the song, slowing it down a bit so it sounds a little sadder, but in a pretty way.

_When the night has come…_

_And the land is dark…_

_And the moon is the only light we'll see…_

_No, I won't be afraid,_

_Oh, I won't be afraid, _

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me…_

I prefer John Lennon's version, but I know Cook likes Ben E. King's better. I close my eyes and try to make it sound as sweet as possible, which can be difficult because of my husky voice, but I've practiced enough. Plus, if Cooks smile is anything to go by, I'm doing okay. I swear, that smile would make Voldemort understand mercy.

_So darling, darling, stand by me… _

_Oh, stand by me…_

_Oh, stand, stand by me, stand by me…_

After a few minutes I finish the song by holding the last chord until it dies out. The room is dead silent as I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction. I'm not dreading rejection, Cook loves it when I play for him, but playing in front of anyone has always been nerve-racking for me. Cook, Katie, and James are the only people I've ever played for. Oh, and dad, I played for dad once.

Cook's reaction is something rare. Something I know he's only ever shown me and something he'll probably never show anyone else. He doesn't talk. He doesn't ruin the moment with words, he just continues smiling. A smile designed for my eyes only. It's not face-splitting and smug like his usual contagious grin. It's genuine and warm and honest. It's a little sad too. It's a smile that shows his vulnerabilities. Vulnerabilities that only I know he has.

I put my guitar down gently and lean it against the chair. I pad across the room and sit next to him, resting my head on his shoulder like I did this morning. When I first moved in with Cook Katie continuously asked me, why him? He's dirty and vulgar, perverted and blunt. But no one understands us, and that's part of the reason we're a team. So to answer Katie's question; Sitting here quietly with Cook in our dimly lit living room, and the feel of his shoulder moving slightly with every breath he takes, and the soft whisper of 'thanks Emsy' being the only sound in the room, that's why. Because this, this feeling of only being allowed to be ourselves with each other, and being able to sit together in a silent room full of unspoken secrets and weaknesses but not feel compelled to expose them, that's our friendship. That's Cook and I, and no one will ever come close to understanding us.

* * *

**I hope that was good enough, let me know. I said the same thing last time, I know, but I really shouldn't take too long to upload the next chapter. I have it all planned out. Thanks for reading.**

**~Shae**


	4. Chapter 4

**MY GOD. No more estimating the length of how long it will take for me to update. I apologize to anyone who cares. I have no excuse. Anyway, all opinions are still welcomed and really, don't be shy, I love you, just love me back, or hate me, that's fine too. Thanks so much to vampirebeast01 for reviewing each chapter so far, it means a lot. Oh, and just because I haven't said it yet..**

**Disclaimer: Skins isn't mine, I don't own it.**

**Thanks for reading you amazing, perfect, little balls of lovely. Enjoy!**

* * *

**_Naomi_**

I shouldn't be here. I'm risking a lot by coming here again, but I have to do this for myself. I've stood outside these red framed doors long enough. No more hesitating.

I walk up to the counter, only taking a second to analyze the room as I go. No redhead detected, it's okay, she's not here. The same waitress from yesterday is working again.

"Hello again," she smiles kindly.

The ocean!

That's what it was, her eyes, they remind me of the ocean.

I place both my hands on the counter and lean in closer so the few people enjoying the paper with their drinks don't hear us. If this career has taught me anything it's how to be careful who you trust.

"Yes, right, hello," I rush out. I check her name tag, "Listen, Charlie, I have a very important question for you. There's a lot relying on your answer."

She looks at me seriously, "I'll do my best. Ask away."

"That girl, small, red hair, bout this tall," I make a hand motion near my chin. "I think she had brown eyes. She was here yesterday, who is she?"

I'm sure she had brown eyes.

"I think you're looking for Emily," she whispers.

It feels like goose bumps have erupted all over the inside of my stomach.

Emily. That suits her.

"Emily…" I say, testing it out. "Emily, what?"

"Fitch." She leans her forearms on the counter, "She's here all the time, always sits right there," she points to her right; directly at the table Effy and I were sitting at yesterday. "Courtney, the owner, could probably tell you more, she talks to Emily now and then, but she's not in today. I feel bad for the girl; she's always got a black eye or a cut lip or something of the sort. I offered her an ice pack the other day but she just brushed me off," she shrugs.

"Thank you," I say, giving her a small but genuine smile. "That's all I needed," I take my hands off the counter and head for the door.

"Yeah, sure, any time," she says hurriedly before the door closes behind me.

Kieran called me in today to talk about a new potential case. He said if they decide to go through with the plan I might have one hell of a job ahead of me. I figured I'd stop at the shop and find out who the redhead was on my way. This way, when I get to work, I can get Jay to search her up for me. The base I work at is an insanely huge, three-story building. It looks like absolute shit from the outside, but inside, it's like walking into a spaceship. Around the back of the building is a heavy, navy blue door that everyone uses to get in. Beside it, there's a little keypad that requires a security code and a matching finger print to grant access.

When I arrive, I enter '172945' into the keypad and press my finger against it. The door opens with a sound you'd expect a spaceship's door to make. On the other side everything is white except for an identical navy blue door directly in front of me and I'm met with a familiar choice. Take the stairs to my left, going down to the basement; continue straight through the door ahead, or take the stairs to my right, going up to the third floor.

The basement is our gym. All the equipment, like the punching dummies and yoga mats, are down there, along with a gigantic metal door that requires a key and two security codes to open. It stores our guns, ammunition, explosives, tools, armor, technology… You know, all the expensive and important paraphernalia. Only Kieran has the key. However, JJ works in the lab, not in the gym like Thomas- who is in charge of taking care of the equipment and teaching the less experienced agents how to fight –the lab is on this floor, so I continue through the door in front of me.

The three of us are part of an undercover organization that's connected to the FBI. It's not a large group of people; Kieran only recruits the best. A majority of us are professionals but we do have some people who require training before they are considered an official part of our team. You can't apply for this job. Kieran has undercover officials monitoring the people applying to become police officers or anyone new to the FBI and still learning. Anyone with significant skills or knowledge is recommended. If Kieran approves, he offers them a job here. Of course, we have a confidentiality code, so anyone offered a job is legally prevented from saying anything.

We have to stay hidden for everyone's safety. There's a deeper level of crime that people are oblivious of. This all has to stay confidential. If people knew how much danger they could potentially be in, all hell would break loose. It's our goal to stop the bigger threats before people find out they even existed. The government knows about us, and obviously everyone knows there's such a thing as special agents, but we cover dangerous, top-secret cases. Nothing we do can be publicized. No one in Bristol can know we exist or that we're located here.

The lab is a lot darker than the stairway. Not because it's excessively dark, but because the stairway is excessively bright. Half of the vast room is desks and computers while the other half is examination tables and a shitload of cabinets containing test tubes and telescopes and whatever else these people require to work. It's a computer lab and a science lab, hence the common phrase 'the lab.' The various scientists and the techies like JJ who search up all the important information and do all the necessary hacking work on this floor. I only come in here to see JJ; otherwise, it's not my department.

On the occasion that I am called in for a new assignment, I always go to the third floor. To a stranger, it's just an oversized room with tables, billboards, and file cabinets; one big, cliché-looking office. Little would they know, that monotonous room has saved their lives, probably, multiple times. The people in the basement train for a reason, and the people in the lab do their research for a reason, thanks to the detectives and investigators on the top floor. The people on the third floor take every target and brainstorm them, discuss them. They go over every aspect, from criminal records to the personality traits of a person. They break our subjects apart until they uncover their weaknesses and comprehend what makes them tick.

I'm not here very often. Sometimes I'll brainstorm with Kieran and some of the investigators, but that's all I ever do here. The way I have to go about catching someone can be manipulative and tricky, involving undercover work and getting into someone's head with the right words. Other times it's up-front, dreadful, and gruesome. Kieran sits with the others and they all discuss their ideas with him and when an agreement is made on how to go about the situation, Kieran tells me what I am to do. Sometimes I'm undercover and sometimes I'm armed. That's just my job.

"Oh, hey Noams," JJ meets me halfway to his desk with two coffees, "had a feeling you'd be in today." He smiles thoughtfully and hands me one of the coffees. You know, as sick of coffee as I am, I'm more thankful for JJ now than that time he warned me about the gunman around the corner that I failed to notice that time in London.

"Kieran tell you he called me in today then?" I take a test sip of my coffee.

"Well, considering I'm going to be working on the same case as you, I assumed you'd arrive on the day we're all going to be told what's going on," he says like it's the most obvious thing.

"You are?" Kieran didn't say anything except that he needed me to come in as soon as possible.

"Oh, did he not tell you?" His eyebrows furrow together.

"He just told me to get my ass down here ASAP."

"Oh, well I don't' know any more than you then. We've been sitting in his office waiting for you all morning; he said he wouldn't say anything until you were here." He looks disappointed that I couldn't tell him more.

"Campbell! My office! We've been waiting for you all bloody morning!" Kieran hollers across the room, causing a few people to look up from their papers and whatnot.

"Okay, okay," I say, putting my hands up in mock-surrender. I turn to JJ and impersonate Kieran's angry face while making a small scratching motion with my hand, earning a few chuckles from the people watching. If looks could kill, Kieran's glare would have disintegrated me on the spot. "Sorry," I mumble as we pass him.

There's always been a huge table in the center of Kieran's office. Everyone knows about the huge table, it's where the important meetings have always been held. There are four people already sitting on the left side; Abby and Dallas, they assist me on missions that are too big for one person. Abby's one of the sharpest people you will ever meet, she's phenomenal at finding a quick way out of complex situations. Dallas excels when it comes to strategy and he's got fantastic aim. Next to them are Thomas and the new girl, Panda. I think I remember Thomas telling me she assists him in instructing his classes in the gym.

"Hello, Naomi," Thomas greets me with a friendly smile.

JJ and I sit across from him and Panda, who's sitting a little closer to Thomas than necessary, but he doesn't seem too bothered.

"Hey, Thommo," I smile right back at him. You will never find someone with a kinder heart than Thomas, I guarantee it.

"Right then," Kieran closes the door behind himself and walks to the head of the table. He looks pointedly at me, "Thanks for joining us Miss Campbell."

I smile innocently at him, "Anything for you, Kieran," I wink.

That breaks him and he finally lets out a laugh. Kieran's really a big softy; he cares about us all a lot more than he lets on. He's just determined to keep things professional, so he puts on this hard ass act. Don't get me wrong, you don't want to piss off Kieran, but he isn't as intimidating as he wants to be.

"JJ, get the slides," he points to a small projector at the other end of the table.

JJ gets up and pulls down the projector screen as Kieran turns out the lights. He clicks a button and the first picture pops up. It's a picture of three men lying on their stomachs, well, three bodies, but their definitely men. Their shirts have been pulled up to reveal their lower backs. JJ presses the button again and the next picture is of the same bodies but it's zoomed in on their backs. They all have the exact same tattoo. Same place, same size, same font, same color, same letter. A tiny black 'M', is inked into the left hand side of each of their backs.

Where have I seen that before?

"As you can see, these men all have the same tattoo," Kieran announces. "I understand we see this sort of thing all the time. It's probably just a gang representation symbol. But here's the catch; in the last four months over twenty-five percent of the criminals apprehended by us and the police departments have this exact tattoo somewhere on their body. It's often somewhere easy to miss; like in between their fingers or in the groove of their ankle."

JJ presses a button again and this time the picture is of a man in a chair. His wrists are tied to each arm rest and there's a plastic bag over his head; the inside is almost completely stained with blood. Another press and a picture zoomed in on the man's neck appears; the same tattoo, just below his jaw.

"Thank you Jonah," Kieran says, flicking the lights back on. JJ turns off the projector and sits back down.

"So," Kieran claps his hands loudly, "this 'gang'," he air quotes, "has gone from clubhouse status to becoming our problem in four months. Which means…?" He gestures at the six of us, expecting an answer.

"That they're growing in numbers at a rapid rate and becoming more dangerous," Abby answers.

Kieran points at her excitedly, "Correct!"

I catch Abby smile lightly at Kieran's enthusiasm. Told you, he's really not as scary as he tries to be.

"Right now we're in a little over our heads. If we use force and start a war with these people, it's likely we'll lose. The plan, roughly, so far, is to beat them from the inside out. I've sent two of our better guys to go and befriend a member of the gang, located near us, that I've tracked down with the help of Jonah here. We have to go undercover and get enough information to plan out how to do this successfully. You six are my backup. I need a plan B in case something happens with the two agents already on the case. If I need your help, you'll know within the next week." He turns around and takes a step towards the door before jerking back. "Oh! One more thing. If any of you tell a soul about this little project, you're fired. Understand?"

We all nod.

"Good. Remember, nothing's written in stone; I'm just giving you a heads up. Now get out."

I fall into step with JJ as I walk with him back to his desk.

"Jay, I need a favor."

"Okay," we stop at his desk and he sits down. "How can I be of assistance?"

"If I needed you to find someone for me, do you think you could do it?"

He moves the mouse around to wake up the computer. Multiple windows pop up with graphs and numbers and a bunch of other shit I'm not meant to understand. He looks at the screen, then back up at me.

"Duh," he smiles smugly.

For a minute I didn't think he'd do it. You know, in case it goes against some rule or something, which it probably does, but I can count on him. I sit on his desk next to the monitor and smile gratefully at him as I ruffle his short, curly hair.

"You're brilliant Jay."

* * *

It took a few minutes to narrow it down, there's a shitload more Emily Fitches' out there than you'd think, but eventually he found the right one and turns out she's only ten minutes away from my house. I wonder why I've never seen her around. Maybe she just moved here or something.

Her complex doesn't look as extravagant as mine, but take into consideration, not a lot of people make as much money as I do. Her room is on the fourth floor, number four-fifteen.

Found you, Emily Fitch.

I take a deep breath once I'm face to face with number four-fifteen, which is weird; I don't get nervous. Whatever, best just get this over with. I just want what's mine then I'll have nothing to do with her.

I knock three times and lean against the wall across the hallway. There's some rustling on the other side, then a series of clicking as someone unlocks the doors' multiple locks. There's no peep-hole. That's strange, who would have that many locks, but no peep-hole?

The door opens slowly and there she is. Her eyes are definitely brown. She's wearing black sweats and a baggy dark green sweater; her hair's tied up in a lazy ponytail and she looks tired. I stay where I am, no need to intrude her space, or life for that matter, anymore than necessary.

She looks honestly surprised, which doesn't last long. She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows expectantly, like she's waiting for me to admit I did something wrong.

I smile at her; the same impish smile that probably pisses her off beyond belief by now.

"Surprise."

* * *

**_Emily_**

"_Surprise."_

Fuck, that smirk. That fucking smirk pisses me off beyond belief.

She takes a tentative step closer and I grab my door firmly; she stops.

"What do you want?" I snap at her.

"You have something that belongs to me," she takes another step towards me.

Oh this is too perfect.

I take the opportunity to shoot her obnoxious playful grin right back at her. I'm still wearing her necklace, but she doesn't know that; it's under my sweater. I step into the hallway and close my door behind me. I don't want her so much as seeing inside my flat, even if some small, delusional part of me doesn't want her to leave.

"Do I?" I pretend not to understand. "Oh! Yes, that's right," My smile turns to one of satisfaction as I lean back against the door casually. "I do."

Her cool act dies and it only takes her two quick, soundless strides to go from five feet away to one.

"I know you're wearing it," She points at my neck, "you really underestimate me, Emily," she says warningly.

Hang on, she knows my name now? Of, fuck no. I have more than enough random people knowing my name. I uncross my arms and stand up straight.

"Oh, I'm sure, you know my fucking name now?!" I push her shoulders causing her to take a small step back.

"Listen," she sighs and runs a hand through her hair, "calm down, I'm not your enemy."

"Tell me how you know my name," I demand. "Knowing my name without a justifiable reason doesn't exactly make you a friend in my book."

"Just give me my necklace and I'll be out of your life," she says as she cautiously approaches me again.

"Tell me who you are."

"I don't tell anyone who I am," She says quietly, looking me dead in the eye.

"I bet you don't." She's back to a foot or so away from me. She seems determined to keep a bit of distance between us. "But I'm not anyone," I step the smallest bit closer. Let's see just how uncomfortable I can make her. "I have your necklace."

Whatever discomfort I assumed was there she's clearly disregarded as she grabs my wrists and pins them above my head so fast I don't have time to react; I'm trapped between her and the door. I can feel her breathing heavily against my nose; the act couldn't have tired her out _that_ much.

She just stares at me. Well, it feels like more than just staring, like she's looking into my eyes. I feel more than see her whole body stiffen as an apprehensive expression takes over her features. I can't look away from her conflicted blue eyes. I should, I really, really should, but I can't. As scary as the thought is, I'm not sure if I want to look away. Her eyes are too captivating, and interesting; a blue that screams mystery but implies so much more. There's an untold story hiding in those eyes, and I can't shake the feeling that maybe it's too tragic to burden anyone else with, so she just lets it consume her. Regardless, I want to know what her eyes are dying to tell but her mouth refuses to let go. Looking into her eyes is definitely interesting, just maybe a bit too interesting.

The moment goes by a lot faster than it feels it should. I blink and everything I just saw in those eyes is lost. It's just a pair of ordinary, vacant, blue eyes now. She shifts both my wrists to one hand while the other reaches around my neck. I scrunch my eyes, bracing myself for whatever blow she's about to unleash, but it doesn't come. She touches the back of my neck hesitantly; she's not looking into my eyes anymore. I feel an involuntary shiver, like the pins and needles you feel in your foot after its fallen asleep, slither all the way down my spine.

This is bad.

She flicks something on the back of my neck and, just as fast as it all happened, my wrists are free and she's back to being five feet away.

"Thanks," she says, showing me the necklace that she just successfully stole back.

There goes my only leverage.

I open my mouth to demand more answers but I'm interrupted by a crash coming from the top of the stairs at the end of the hall.

"Shit." Cooks hunched over picking up the contents of a grocery bag he just dropped everywhere.

"Shit!" The blond across from me whispers loudly. She looks around frantically, covering the side of her face that Cook might see.

Her eye catches something at the end of the hall, opposite from Cook; the fire exit.

I don't hesitate.

"Cook!" I yell, "Cook!"

He jolts up so fast you'd think he'd just been electrocuted.

"Holy fucking Christ Em!" He gasps, clutching his chest.

"Don't just fucking stand there, moron!" I scream. "She'll fucking bolt agai-" I stop abruptly at the sound of a door clicking. I spin around and just catch the fire exit door close.

"Fucks sake!" I smash my fists against the wall. There's no point in chasing her, I know when to quit.

Cook appears next to me and drops the bag near the wall beside us. He grabs my shoulders and forces me to look at him.

"What's wrong?" He's dead serious, "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine Cook," I shrug him off. I exhale heavily, "Just some girl shit."

He's still looking at me like I might break down and start crying any second.

"C'mon then, show me what's in the bag," I smile nonchalantly.

Despite the uncertainty that's still lingering slightly on his features, he breaks into a standard Cook grin.

"Keith gave me some good shit Emilio man; we're going to have one hell of a trip. Christina was telling me about this one time when she…" Cook rambles on as he opens our door.

I turn to follow him in, but not without one last look down the hall. I stare at the glowing red exit sign directly above the last place I'll ever remember seeing her. All she wanted was the necklace; she's got no reason to have anything to do with me now. I'm supposed to feel relieved; not disappointed. However, despite my best efforts, I can't ignore whatever it was I saw in her eyes for that second that lasted forever. I guess I should be worried about how she seems to have found out my name now too. She could be connected to Candice, but she isn't out to hurt me and she said herself, she's not my enemy. The whole scenario should worry me, scare me even, but thinking back on everything that happened, the only scary part is that the entire time she had me pinned against the door, the thought of pushing her off me or struggling at all didn't cross my mind once.

* * *

**There you go. I'll TRY and update soon, no promises or estimations this time. I hope this meets your fancy or however that saying goes. **

**Thank you ever so much for reading, I love you all.**

**~Shae **


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm sorry. CAN I JUST SAY THAT TWENTY TWO FOLLOWERS IS A LOT MORE THAN I EVER EXPECTED AND I REALLY APPRECIATE IT. So I know it's been like forever, and I'm sorry. It's just like, school is ALMOST done. I hope to update a little more frequently over the summer. Thanks for all the follows, it's awesome you guys. Really, thank you. So it's 1:40 am and I'm doing this for you. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned Skins, Emily and Naomi would have some sweeter moments, but I don't, so damn. **

* * *

**_Naomi_**

When I was thirteen years old, my father was murdered.

It's not something I tend to emphasize, but I accepted it a long time ago. Something horrible happened and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Of course, some days it gets to me a little more than others, but if you look at the pluses, it makes my job a significant amount more gratifying. I get to stop people like the ones who killed my father. If there was ever a way for someone like me to get justice, working for the FBI is as good as I'm going to get. The men that killed him were never found. I keep that in mind when I'm on the job; any criminal I'm after could have played a part in my father's murder.

My father, Andy Wood, was one of the most successful, intelligent, and well-known lawyers in London, which is where we lived when he was alive. Because of him, mum and I lived luxuriously; I attended an all-girls private school that I loved for obvious reasons and our house was big enough for a family of twenty. The publicity of it all made me quite popular, which I didn't dislike. Having the interest of every girl in the school, regardless of whether they liked _me_ or my family's wealth, is an ego boost if you're thirteen years old. However, I was never attention hungry. It was nice being noticed but I've always managed fine on my own.

Mum worked as well; regardless of how many times dad and I reminded her she didn't have to. Like the typical, stubborn Gina she is, she refused to rely on a man to pay the bills and insisted on making half the rent. She got a job as a family therapist and became rather successful herself. Any extra money went into savings accounts. At the time it seemed ridiculous, the idea of ever needing extra money for anything was an odd thought.

She's a cliché and she's fucking terrible at picking names but not a day has gone by where I'm not grateful for my mother and her independence. Things would have been a lot worse had she not saved up enough to get us by.

When my father died, we sold the house and left London immediately. My father was famous in his line of work, so when he died, naturally, we couldn't escape it. It was in our face everywhere we went; the top story on every news channel and the front page in every newspaper was broadcasting his death. School sucked. At least two different girls a day would approach me with sorry expressions and I couldn't escape the hushed whispers or secret glances of silent groups of people who thought they were being subtle. I appreciated people caring, I really did, but I got tired of everyone pussy footing around me like I was thin ice about two seconds away from cracking. I just wanted everyone to stop bringing it up. I was reminded everywhere I went that my father was dead.

We gathered up the money in the savings accounts; every bit mum saved up and every bit dad left for us. That, plus selling the house, left us with enough to move to Bristol, buy a small place, and get me enrolled in another private school. Mum was able to keep her job as well, which was nice. She could have afforded a better house for us, something a little bigger than a town house built for three people maximum, but she spent as little as possible on everything to ensure my education stayed at its best. That's where all the money really went, towards my expensive schooling. I really do appreciate the fuck out of that woman.

Although my father was considerably popular, he never let it go to his head. All the reporters swarming around him whenever he won a case, or the constant, unnecessary questions about his personal life, didn't affect him. It pissed him off actually, and that was always my favorite thing about him. I prefer minding my own business; I know I got that from him. He was a family guy too. Instead of working on weekends, he'd take mum and I out for ice cream, or to the park, or to a movie. He always thought of something different to do with us.

The Saturday before he died was the day he gave me his ring. The three of us were at the park and everything was perfect. The sun was out, but a light wind blew just enough to prevent us from burning to ash. The kids running around and climbing all over the old wooden playground usually annoyed the shit out of me, but that day, I found their laughter and small screams of excitement cute. The food we had brought with us tasted a little better than usual, and we were happy. We were sitting on a bench, watching some seagulls surround a group of kids scattering bread crumbs, when my father said one of the last things I'd ever remember hearing him say.

"Your mother and I were in Spain when we found out we were pregnant with you," he said. "It was awesome," he was the kind of guy who said awesome too much, "and surprising, but in a fantastic way." He smiled then, and I never forgot that smile. "Of course, we had to schedule an earlier flight home, but there was a small shop across the street from our motel that I _had_ to visit before we left. Don't ask me why, I don't know." He grabbed my wrist, placed the ring in my hand and closed my fingers around it. "To make an incredibly long story understandably short, I saw this and I had to buy it. Not so much for you as for myself, which is selfish I know, but hey, _sue me_." I remember how mum and I both laughed when he said it. He'd used that joke so many times.

I remember looking at the ring for the first time as he watched and not understanding its apparent significance. I felt bad, like I should have understood, but I didn't.

"The inside," my father said, "there's a word engraved on the inside."

I looked closely and sure enough, there was a word printed in small, neat, cursive writing.

"_Luchador_," he said softly, "pretty corny hey?"

I knew what it meant. Everyone knows that luchador means fighter in Spanish.

"At the time, I'll admit this to you both once and once only," he pointed his finger at mum and I, "I was terrified."Mum snorted at that. He pretended not to notice. "I figured, maybe this would supply some form of encouragement. Stupid, I know, I know, but it did help. Suddenly finding out you're going to be a dad is scary, but I knew I had to be a fighter. I had to be a fighter for you and for your mother." He pushed a strand of hair the wind had blown into my face behind my ear, "I see so much of myself in you, Naomi." It always felt weird when he said my name, but that's how I knew he was serious. "You're a fighter too, you know. I knew the second you were born that you were strong. I think you're responsible to take good care of this now, yeah?"

At that point all I could do was nod. None of us said anything else after that. We just sat together and watched the seagulls follow around the group of kids expectantly even though they had run out of bread.

He was found two days later.

Now, it's easier to understand my relief as I showed Effy my necklace when I flew through our door last night after bolting away from Emily again. Or why I would do something undoubtedly risky and stupid like reveal my face to a stranger while on the job to get that ring back. It's all I have left of him.

I had the ring on a chain around my neck when the police picked me up from school on the Monday. It's always been too big for my fingers. They drove me to the station and the first thing I saw when I was walked in was my mother being held up by a large police officer with darker skin as she screamed and thrashed at him with whatever strength she could muster. What followed is predictable enough. I was informed on what had happened, I broke down, mum and I got our money, and we left.

I was always fine on my own, but growing up without my father was what made me _prefer_ being on my own. I didn't really have a mother either, then. It's hard to get help from someone who's going through the same thing and is just as fucked as you are. Mum drowned herself in work, as if that would make anything better, and I was a numb, emotionless sack of depression for about six months before I started working out.

I became quite obsessed. I researched fighting techniques and cardio exercises, got into gymnastics and attended seminars at local gyms. For whatever reason, feeling the adrenaline rush and the pain of pushing myself to the limit made what happened in London disappear for a bit. Not to mention if I hadn't of turned to exercise I would have ended up fighting with mum and punching holes in the walls. It was a great was to manage my anger and I couldn't stop; it was all I could do to forget. I exercised to a point where it consumed me. It was like that for three years before JJ found me when I was sixteen. Apparently he had noticed my frequent visits to different gyms. He made up some fake fight club and asked if I wanted to join. I was delighted that I finally had something new to do. Obviously, he took me to Kieran instead of a group of kids in a fight club like I had expected. He explained how he thought I would be a good asset to their team. Kieran was a little frustrated with JJ for exposing a teenager to such a serious organization, but after observing my skills, he got over it. He explained everything to me, making sure I understood I could never tell anyone, and he gave me a choice. Everyone gets a choice whether they want to join or not because of the conditions; help save the country from some of the worst criminals but live a life of risk and secrets. At that time I was already alone and all they wanted me to do was show up at the base on weekends and some days after school and watch and practice whatever they told me to. I had nothing to lose, so I accepted and started what ended up being two years of professional training. Eventually, I turned eighteen and was finally allowed to call myself a special agent. Now here I am, twenty years old and working for the FBI.

However, twenty-year-old, badass, female FBI agents still need their mummy sometimes.

* * *

The door creaks slightly, like it always does, as I gently close it behind me. It takes a total of one and a half seconds before the frantic footsteps undoubtedly belonging to my mother get nearer.

"Naomi, love!" she engulfs me in a crushing embrace before I have time to object.

"Hi mum," I manage to squeeze out. "I love you and everything, but I can't hug back without arms." Her grip loosens immediately. After my arms are free I willingly return the hug. She pulls away and I'm taken off guard as she smacks my arm sharply.

"Ouch!" I back away to avoid and further attacks, "What did I do?"

"When was the last time you came to see me?!" She crosses her arms.

"Sorry mum. I've been super busy with work is all, I swear." I've managed to convince my mother that I'm a journalist, which comes in handy when I have to leave for specific assignments for, sometimes, weeks on end. I still make a living, obviously, regardless of the lie. Fuck, I make three times as much as a bloody journalist does, she just doesn't know that. "Don't be mad."

She un-crosses her arms, "You get a free pass this one time Naomi Campbell. I'll go put the kettle on." With that, she disappears into the kitchen.

There are three photos of dad on the wall in the hallway. He was a handsome man; dark brown hair, always gelled back the way you'd expect a lawyer to gel his hair, bright green eyes that said there was more to him than his job, and for a lawyer, he was pretty buff. I got my looks from mum.

There's nothing more nostalgic than walking into mums kitchen to the smell of tea. I sit at the small table that's built for four but only ever seated the two of us as mum joins me with two mugs of tea.

"So," she says, "how's work?"

Oh, fine, just saving most of Bristol from some of the United Kingdom's most wanted criminals.

"Great," I lie, "I would have come sooner, I just haven't been around," another lie. Lying has become my second nature over the years.

"You look tired, love," she places her hand over mine. Visiting mum has always been somewhat of a stress reliever for me. She helps me with the problems I'm too stubborn to reveal to anyone else and gives me advice only a mother can give. Half the time she doesn't know the actual problem she's helping me with or what she's giving me advice on, but it helps all the same.

"I am, mum. Getting sleep, who knew it'd be so hard hey?"

She looks at me pitifully, "Is this about a girl?"

For fucks sake. She assumes every problem I have is over a girl.

"No mum," I sigh.

"Naomi, don't be a twat, you know the rules. If you find someone-"

"It's not over a bloody girl mum!" I cut her off. She fixes me with a stern glare. I sigh again and pinch the bridge of my nose, my elbow resting on the table. "Sorry," I breathe out. I focus on the smell of my tea as she continues to stare at me. "What?" I ask.

"What's the rule Naomi."

I have, by far, the world's most _impossible_ mother.

"If you find someone, you've got to cherish it," I mumble out like a grumpy child who's just been forced to apologize.

"Good," she beams.

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately."

We're interrupted by my phone buzzing aggressively in my pocket. I check the caller ID; it's Kieran. He never calls me, he always get's JJ to, because it'd be easier to explain why a boy my age is calling me and not a man almost twenty-five years older.

"Yeah, It's me, hang on," I say into the phone. I hold up a finger to mum and mouth 'one sec' before stepping outside and closing the patio door behind me. "Kieran…" I say skeptically.

"How soon can you get here?" he says like it's a demand instead of a question.

"Uhh, I'm just visiting mum right now, so I guess whenever. Why? What's happened?"

"Just be here in ten minutes, something happened, you're looking at a difficult one here Campbell."

The line goes dead before I can ask. I look up towards the grey sky and exhale slowly. It never ends.

"Mum, I just have to run and help a friend out with something urgent real quick," I say on my way back in, "I'll come see you later tonight, I promise."

I kiss her cheek and head for the door before she can protest. I'm putting my shoes on as she yells from the kitchen, "Does this friend happen to be female by any chance?"

I shake my head and smile subconsciously. Nosy till the end, that woman is.

"Just leave my tea in the microwave!" I shout before rushing out the door.

* * *

I arrive at the base seven minutes later. I enter my code into the keypad, make my way upstairs, and head straight for Kieran's office.

"What's the emergency-?" I stop abruptly. Everyone's already sitting at Kieran's huge table while Kieran himself stands at the head across the room. JJ looks nervous while everyone else looks clueless. I guess they waited for me again.

"Sit," Kieran orders. He almost looks worried.

I take a seat next to JJ.

"What's going on?" I ask for what feels like the fortieth time.

He throws a plain brown folder onto the table. It lands directly in between all of us. There's a picture of a magnificently tanned boy with short jet black hair and a harsh looking scrape on his chin paper clipped to the front.

"Frederick Mclair," Kieran announces. "The suspect located near us we've decided to infiltrate."

"He doesn't look that scary, Kieran," I say flatly.

"The two men I sent last week were found dead this morning."

I hear more than see everyone except Dallas gulp.

"You six are my backup. I gave you a fair warning. We're doing this a different way this time." He looks at JJ who's trying desperately to hide his concern by fiddling frantically with his thumbs. His hard exterior softens, "I wouldn't put this plan into action if I thought there'd be any risk of any of you getting killed," he looks away from JJ and across the room at everyone else, "You know that."

Everyone visibly relaxes in their chairs, because we do know. There's not a doubt in my mind that everyone here would trust Kieran with their life. If he says he doesn't think there'll be a risk, we believe him.

"The last two were sent to befriend Frederick and get some information through trust. They were bugged in almost every place we could manage to bug them. When they were found, all the equipment we wired them with was gone, not a camera, microphone, nothing. That's what WE," he gestures at everyone, "are doing differently. No bugs. You six are going to have different jobs in this mission, but every job is critical, understand?"

We all nod.

"Our guys were killed because, we suspect, Frederick found out they were bugged and sent another member of the gang, or multiple, after them. There's no way to say for sure, there was little evidence established on who did the killing. Anyway, my point is, if I give one or two of you the same task without the equipment, he'll have nothing to discover, therefore he'll have nothing against you. This mission is entirely independent. You're on the job, but you aren't, get it?"

We all nod again.

"Drink alcohol, go to clubs, smoke weed, I don't care, your job is to make him _trust_ you."

JJ chose now to blurt out the question that's been bouncing around in all our heads since Kieran started talking.

"Who?" He says so fast Kieran doesn't catch it.

"Pardon?"

"_Whose_ job is it? Who's going undercover?"

Nobody says anything for five seconds that feel like minutes before Kieran averts his eyes in my direction. Everyone looks at me. I look at everyone, then at Kieran.

"Me?" I ask stupidly, pointing towards myself.

"I'm thinking so," Kieran admits.

I don't say anything. I've gone undercover too many times to keep track, so this isn't exactly daunting news, but I have this strange gut feeling telling me not to be so nonchalant about this assignment. I can't tell why.

"Okay," I say so everyone will stop staring at me expectantly. "Yeah, fine, whatever," I shrug, "just tell me what I have to do."

"Yes, good, okay! We need to kick this plan into action as soon as possible. Campbell, since you're in charge of the undercover work, this all starts as soon as you get involved. Now, everyone else out, I need to speak to you alone," he says casually, pointing at me.

JJ pats my shoulder on his way out and offers me a small smile before disappearing behind the office door.

"His girlfriend, who he lives with, is our only valuable link. His mother's dead, dad's fucked off somewhere and his sister moved to California four years ago," Kieran starts. I nod along as I listen.

"The two who tried this mission the first time tried to befriend one each. One of them became friends and got to know Frederick, while the other did the same to his girlfriend. While this was going on, they were still wired, so we got to know a little bit about our subjects' personalities. As far as we know, the girl doesn't have a clue. She's not an enemy to us. She could technically be considered a hostage even. Anyway, I'm not letting you go straight to Frederick, because it's too dangerous if you're the only one going undercover-"

"Which I will be?" I interrupt.

"Yes, which you will be. Now, as I was saying, too dangerous. As for the girl… Well, after observing her personality I've come to the conclusion that she's a bit too…" He taps his fingers on the table, "Nosy. And bossy; and she takes possessive jealousy to an extreme, which he probably loves. It'd be too difficult to get to him through her, because _she's_ too difficult. I wouldn't put my worst enemy through that," he grimaces slightly. "So I got Jonah to dig into it a little more and I've come up with an alternative I think might just work perfectly."

"Question," I interject. "What's her name?"

"The girlfriend? Did I not say?"

I shake my head.

"Mm, right. I swear I mentioned it. Anyway; Katie Fitch."

My eyes widen slightly. This is not happening. I heard him wrong. I must have.

"Fitch?"

"Yes, Fitch," he confirms.

"Right," I shake my head the tiniest bit. He didn't say Emily, he said Katie, and Fitch can't be that uncommon of a last name. I'm just overreacting. "Anyway," I gesture for him to continue, "Carry on. What's the new plan?"

"I want you to go through her sister, Emily Fitch."

I stare at him. I don't reply to his instruction, I just stare. This isn't happening. I can't tell him it won't work because Emily's already seen my face and already hates me, because if I tell him that, he'll know I got careless. Or worse, he'll ask how I ran into her, and I really don't have an excuse for that. I don't even know _why_ I helped her that one night. It was just one of those times where you don't think about your actions until _after_ you've committed them. After it's too late.

I have to figure out a way I'm going to get her to trust me.

"Campbell!"

I snap my head back in Kieran's direction, "Yeah?"

"I said, when can you start?"

I sigh internally, "Whenever I have to."

* * *

I slump through my front door and kick off my shoes lazily. Effy's sitting on the couch, like usual, with a mug of tea, typically. She barely blinks at my petulant entrance.

I called mum on my way home and told her I'd come over after going home for a nap. Partly because I need one but mostly because I want one and after what just happened, I'm letting myself be selfish.

I sulk over to Effy and quickly kiss her forehead. "Night. Wake me when I'm thirty," I call as I drag my feet to my room.

I have to ask Emily Fitch to trust me.

"Long day?" Effy calls back.

"You have NO idea."

* * *

**Thanks for reading, I still love you all. I hope this was worth the wait somewhat.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Guys I'm so sorry. I've had NO connection for the past two weeks, however, I DID have a working Word program, so I've had chapter 6 done for about a week now. I just had a friend fix my computer and now it's connecting and the first thing I'm doing is uploading this chapter. I've been anticipating it. I can't believe I've gained over ten followers since the last chapter and I haven't even updated, you guys are fucking awesome. I seriously love you all and your supportive encouragement. Thank you so so so much you lovely people. **

* * *

_Emily_

_Everything's black, like my eyes are sealed shut. There's no sound, and I feel like all my weight is being supported by clouds; like all my senses have been cut off._

_**Beep…**_

_A spontaneous, steady beep bounces around my ear drums and sounds like a fire alarm in comparison to the recent silence._

_**Beep…**_

_This time, as it rings out, it's not as disruptive but just as monotonous. It's the same solid beep incessantly sounding out at a slow pace._

_Like a heart monitor._

_An eerie whisper echoes quietly, "You… Fa…."_

_**Beep… **_

_As the repetitive sound gets quicker, the strange voice gets louder._

"_Your… Fa…" _

_**Beep… Beep…**_

"_Your… Fault…" _

_It's a woman's voice._

_**Beep…Beep… Beep…**_

"_Your... Fault…"_

_It's Jenna's voice._

_**Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep... **_

"_Your fault!" Her voice screams._

_The heart-monitor-like-beep has increase to such a rapid pace a hummingbird's wings wouldn't be able to match its ratio per minute. Jenna's voice multiplies into thousands just like it and there are countless, jumbled, condescending words of hatred being thrown at me in her annoying high-pitched squeal from every direction._

"_You knew!"_

"_Get out!"_

"_You disgust me!"_

"_Your fault! Your fault! YOUR FAULT!"_

_The noise is so loud and chaotic that I swear my ears are going to start bleeding. I don't know what's going on. There's only noise, everything's still black. It's closing in. All I can think is…_

"I'M SORRY!" I scream as I jolt up so fast all my blankets fall to the floor. Panting and sweating, I hug my knees to my chest and try to focus on my breathing. The small, black alarm clock on my bedside table tells me it's quarter past five in the morning.

My breathing is almost back to normal when my door suddenly flies open with a destructive crash, causing me to scurry away until my back hits the wall my bed's pushed up against. I hug my knees tighter to my chest and duck my head as a figure swiftly approaches me. In my still-semi-conscious state, I don't piece together that it's Cook until I feel his strong, bare arms wrap protectively around me. I instantly relax and rest my head in the crook of his neck.

"I thought this had stopped red," he says gently.

"Yeah," I say between deep breaths, "Me too."

* * *

It took a good fifteen minutes before I finally convinced Cook I was fine. He tentatively went back to bed and, no doubt, fell asleep again instantly. I knew I wasn't going to get anymore sleep if I tried, so I opted for a walk instead; at least it helps clear my head. I left Cook a note on the coffee maker so he wouldn't worry. He tends to hover over me and keep a bit too close of an eye on my every move when this happens. I have nightmares now and then. It's nothing I can't handle, but that doesn't mean it's any less of a pain in the ass. It's a constant reminder of the one thing I want nothing more than to forget. Although it has calmed down over the past two years; I used to wake up in the middle of the night screaming. It scared the shit out of Cook.

When Jenna kicked me out everyone assumed it was because I was gay, which it was, but why she never accepted me back again, well, as much as she likes to claim differently, was a bit of a different story. I know, and she knows, and Katie knows, and Cook knows; she blames me for my father's death.

It happened only just a week after I came out and six days after I was kicked out. The band-aid had been ripped off but the wound was still fresh. Every time I snuck over to see Katie or James, it was like holding salt over the wound; if Jenna caught me, the outcome would sting everyone. When my father died however, it didn't just sting, oh no, his death didn't just pour salt into the wound, his death plunged a rusty knife into it. The misfortune caused so much pain that it was unbearable but it wasn't enough to kill us, leaving us wishing it had. He was the only potential aspect possibly keeping our family together. I think that's why he had a heart attack; he knew it would have been his job to repair the cracked and shattered relationships around him, and that was too much pressure. He was stressed enough with Jenna, his gym, and struggling to support his family, take that and add his favorite daughter confessing she's a lesbian, the family being torn apart, and being forced to pick sides, I'm not surprised his heart caved. Of course, Jenna's opinion differs just a bit. She's convinced herself that he passed because my coming out was too shocking for him, that he couldn't handle the idea. I won't believe that shit for a second. In reality, if she hadn't of made such an over exaggerated deal and blown the whole fucking thing out of proportion, making the situation a lot worse than it had to be, I'll bet you any money I'd still be playing songs for him.

When I opted for a walk I didn't actually have any idea where I wanted to go. All I knew was that I needed to get out of the flat and be by myself for a bit. So, naturally, my feet took me to my little café in a bubble.

A small smile plays on my lips as I walk through the red framed-doors. The feelings of unease and guilt, frustration and anger all evaporate as soon as the expected warm aroma engulfs me.

"Emily, good to see you," Courtney says from behind the counter, smiling at me kindly. Courtney, if you haven't guessed, is the owner of Courtney's Coffee. She's offered me a job a few times, but I always decline. I don't want to remember my safe haven as a place I used to work at.

"Hey, Courtney," I briefly return her smile, "You too." I order a hot chocolate and head over to my usual seat at the blue-clothed table while I wait. Courtney arrives with my beverage five minutes later.

"Mind if I sit?" She asks.

Courtney is the only person I would call my friend besides Cook and my siblings. We don't hang out or anything along those lines, but we're as far as being on a first name basis and we have a few odd conversations here and there if she's working and the shop's quiet. She manages to look past the black eyes and false smiles I bring into the shop and she's the closest thing to a friend as I'm going to get. I try not to push her out like I do most people. I'm used to just putting on a bitch front to every new face because, eventually, everyone just judges me by my past or my wounds or my habits. They're going to find a reason to hate on me anyway, so why not get it over with? I'm looked at and labelled before anything else, I'm stereotyped unfairly and I carry heavy stigmas on my shoulders everywhere I go; like a mule forever packing its owners' belongings.

"Go for it," I tell her, gesturing to the chair opposite me. She sits down and pulls her chair in carefully before resting her hands on the table in front of her and absent-mindedly twiddling her thumbs. "But, aren't you, like, you know, working?" I ask.

"Oh, oh yeah I am, but I also own the place. Who's going to fire me for taking a few minutes off?" She laughs lightly. Courtney looks like she's near her late twenties. She's got long light brown hair that falls in straight strands and reaches an inch below her arm pit. Her eyes are a hazel color that she highlights with different colors and kinds of silver make-up, making them look like jewels. If I didn't respect her, you better believe I would have jumped on her by now. "Emily, can I be straight with you?"

I smile an amused smile at the irony of her words, "Sure."

"Look, I've seen the black eyes, the dry blood, the limps, the torn clothing, all of it." My smile falters. "Before you get the wrong idea, I'm not here to patronize you, and I'm not going to offer you my sympathy either because you strike me as someone who wouldn't want it if I tried."

I know where this is going. She's going to tell me not to come here anymore because I probably make it look like they accept and serve delinquents.

"I wanted to make sure you understood," she continued, "You know, in case there's any doubt, that whatever goes on in your world, whatever happens, is your business and regardless of what you get yourself into I consider you a friend, Emily. Just know you're always welcome here."

I've always been awkward in situations like this. I'm not used to random acts of kindness, it's foreign to me. Despite my uncomfortable reaction, I show my gratitude as best I can by smiling gratefully at her and murmuring a pitiful 'thanks.' It's a pathetic response, but she doesn't seem bothered.

"Right then," she says in a much less serious tone, "what I really wanted to tell you is, assuming you're unemployed, that there's a job opening at Hanks Restaurant down the street," she points her thumb in the general direction of 'down the street.' "I put in a good word for you already. I'm friends with Hank," she winks at me. "You can head down there anytime this weekend. Tell him you're the Emily I told him about and you should be good."

I feel uncomfortable; only because I don't deserve gestures and offerings like this. I have no clue how to say thanks like a normal human being.

"Courtney, I- I don't know what to say, this is- it's very kind of you," I stutter out brilliantly. "Thank you."

She nods once, "Don't mention it," she pats my arm, "now, I'm going to get myself in trouble if I keep sitting down on the job," she gets up and pushes her chair in, "talk to you later, Emily. Good luck."

With that, she leaves me feeling a little overwhelmed as she walks back towards the front counter. Okay, so maybe not _everyone_ is a condescending asshole.

I stayed at Courtney's for two hours, sitting at my table with my drink and my thoughts. Cook knows the most about me that I'd let anyone know, but that doesn't mean I tell him everything. Everyone has their secrets, I'm entitled to my own, but secrets demand being thought about. Courtney's gives me a place to do that in peace.

After leaving, I walked back home. It's a good thing everything's within walking distance in this area. Cook makes pretty good money through his dealing, but he blows it all on drugs or alcohol or prostitutes. Hopefully I'll get this job, then I can find and save up for a cheap car. I got my licence when I was sixteen but I've never had a car of my own to drive. If I want to save up for Uni, let alone go to uni, I'm going to need a vehicle. I have a bit saved up from a job working at a grocery store as a cashier I recently got fired from because I showed up with two black eyes and a cut lip I couldn't have covered up if I tried; and I did.

When I come through the door Cook's rampaging through the kitchen, raiding the cupboards and drawers frantically and muttering under his breath.

"What's going on?" I ask, closing the door behind me.

"I've fucking lost the emergency bag of coke," he slams another cupboard shut.

"What's the emergency?" I ask as I grab his arms gently and place them at his sides. He calms down and I make sure I have his attention before I let him continue.

"One of my top customers wants thirty grams dropped off in half an hour and I told him it wasn't a problem because I thought I knew where the other bag was but now I have an impatient guy expecting me in half an hour and no fucking crack," he rushes out. He rubs his face with his hands and exhales with a frustrated sigh.

"Okay, okay, calm down. Can I help?" I ask.

His hands fly away from his face and he looks at me like I just told him we won the lottery.

"As a matter of fact, my little muff muncher, you can," he smiles excitedly at me, "I need you to go pick up thirty g's from Keith. I'll call him and let him know I sent you and that I'll pay for it later. Drop it off at the old abandoned skate park on the corner of Gregory, that's where I'm meeting the guy. I'll stall him until you get there. Well, if you'll do it."

"Of course I'll fucking do it you dunce!" I smack his arm, "but just- be careful Cook. Try not to get yourself into situations like this, yeah?"

"You're the fucking best, red," he kisses my forehead and runs to the door, ignoring my concern. "See you in about forty-five, yeah?"

I nod at him. He flashes another broad grin at me and heads out the door.

* * *

Dropping off the powder was sketchy as fuck. I know Cook knows what he's doing but my sixth sense was telling me to get the fuck out of there before I even arrived. The look of the guy he was selling it to didn't help; a tall man with broad shoulders, short, jet-black black hair gelled back perfectly, and a fresh black tux with a purple tie. His black jeep had three other hulks, all dressed exactly the same, sitting in it, eyeing Cook and I carefully. When I arrived, they all violated me with rape eyes, but I was with Cook, and he won't let anything happen to me. Regardless, I got out of there as soon as possible.

Gregory is a little farther than I remember. I never visit that area of town; it's ghetto as fuck and guaranteed the most suspicious place you'll ever see. I mean, I can manage my own but I can't beat everything; a gang of ten to twenty men trudging around is one of those things.

I've been walking for a while and I recognize my surroundings so I'm probably close to home. Finding my way there was easy, but I decided to take a different way I thought would be quicker back. Now I'm fucking lost.

Despite being out of dangerous, enemy territory, I'm still jumpy. A sudden loud crash from behind me doesn't help.

I spin around so fast I almost trip over my own feet, "Who's there?" I ask.

My question drowns out in silence. There's nothing here except a few old houses that look like they were colonized by heroin addicts and then abandoned to be taken over by mother earth. I'm just jumpy, there's no one there. It was probably just a cat or some shit.

I continue walking in the direction I hope will bring me home when another loud crash, like a tin garbage can being kicked over and rolling, makes me spin again and raise my fists instinctively; but there's absolutely no one there.

"Fuck this," I mumble. I walk towards where the sound came from; between two old houses overrun by moss and fungus. It's just a grungy pathway; overflowing garbage cans with ants and fuck knows what other kinds of bugs infesting them, a small red door hanging on one hinge on the side of one of the houses with a tiny cracked window and chipped paint, and a short, green-tinted brick wall on the other side. It smells like dead rats and piss. This is ridiculous.

I turn to walk away from the disgusting pathway before I puke but as soon as my back's turned there's another loud sound only this time it's right behind me and it's more of a _bam_ than a crash. I don't get a chance to turn around as a pair of arms wrap around me from behind aggressively; one hand covering my mouth and an arm around my neck. My hands shoot up and I dig my nails into the arm holding my neck in a choke hold as hard as I can but it does nothing; whoever the fuck has decided to fuck with me drags me back through the shitty little red door. I struggle and resist and scream as many muffled indignant threats as I can but all it does it make the arms tighten their death grip. I hear a sick feminine snicker in my ear just before I'm thrown down roughly on a wood floor.

The sadistic laugh of pleasure multiplies; these old rotten houses may have provided shelter for some addicts, but I guess they attract psychos as well. I'm not stupid. I know what's going on.

"Now Fitch, it really isn't safe for an attractive young lady like yourself to be wondering around dangerous areas like this alone," I hear the unmistakable voice of Candice say. "Your little girlfriend unfortunately interrupted our last get-together so we made sure to wait until you were available in a different part of town, to make sure that wouldn't be an issue again."

I'm on my feet before she finishes her sentence. She's leering at me with a smile like slime and all things revolting on her face. Her minions are on all sides.

"I don't know who the fuck she was, bitch," I spit at her. Her followers look as if they have to strain themselves not to pounce on me. Oh so fucking loyal to their leader as they force themselves to wait for the command.

"Right," she steps closer to me. "Well, considering we had to cut last week a little short because of her interference, we figured we'd make this visit extra special to make up for it." If possible, her intrusive smile grows wider and makes her whole face look extra twisted. She looks at one of her followers over my shoulder and raises her eyebrows in the slightest gesture and before I can react- not that any reaction would make a difference –I'm kicked in the back of the knees and I collapse involuntarily. All I can do is curl up in my default position and wait for this shit to end.

It passes in blurs of black and red with hard grunts and evil laughs torturing my ears.

"Not so attractive now, are we?" Candice hisses with one last kick to my ribs. "Your girlfriend won't want to save you now," and with that, they all leave, kicking me wherever they can on their way out.

* * *

With a limp and swollen eyes, it takes longer than expected to make my way back to my complex. Eventually, I'm standing in the parking lot next to a car I don't own and thinking about how I'm going to explain my injuries to Cook, if he's even home. The blood that was pouring from my nose has dried up and my left eye's swelling has gone down, but I'm pretty sure I have two black eyes and the bruises on my sides, splits in my lips, and cuts on my face are all working together to make every move I make feel like I'm dying.

Cook or no Cook, I can't stand outside forever, so with a hopeless sigh I take my first wounded step towards the front doors. I'm three paces away when I hear a familiarly foreign voice coming from nowhere.

"Hey," it's urgent as it floats in the air around me.

I shouldn't have heard it, but it's quiet enough around me that, somehow, I did. I stop where I am and listen carefully, just to make sure Candice and her gang didn't beat the sane out of me. An awkwardly fake cough echo's from around the corner of the complex to my right. You'd think I'd have learnt my lesson about following distant sounds by now, but apparently not. I approach with caution that immediately turns to hateful disappointment when I discover what's waiting for me.

The anonymous, cheeky, oh-so-sure of herself blonde is standing underneath the fire exit stairs that go down the side of the building with her hand behind her neck and her head lowered; eyes glued to the ground. She doesn't look cocky like usual. She looks uneasy and uncomfortable and almost a little nervous as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She's dressed in regular clothes; a black t-shirt with some red font on it, and a light blue pair of skinny jeans. That infuriating necklace, that I used to have, is strapped securely around her neck.

She stops shifting her weight and raises her head the slightest bit. Her eyes flick up to meet mine. When she sees my current state, she slowly raises her head completely. A series of emotions cross her face in quick succession; confusion, anger, guilt, pity, then nothing. Vacant before anyone can grab a peek. She shoves her hands in her pockets and straightens up a bit.

"Hi," she says seriously.

I attempt to glare at her with what I hope comes across as disgust or hatred. Not because that's what I feel right now- I'm too exhausted to care really -and not even because it's her fault I got beat on harder than usual. But because even though she knows my name, won't give me answers, is seemingly following me around, and is complicating my life, I can't help but feel relieved to see her. But I don't know why, and that's the frustrating part.

* * *

**Sorry for the wait again guys, I hope you were all satisfied with this chapter, let me know if you like. Thanks for reading :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys, thanks so much for all of you, oh my god, you're just lovely. Some of the reviews I've gotten have just made my day. All the reviews I get make my day. Anyway, this ones a bit longer so yay for the readers. I'm leaving for camp on Sunday and, well, no electronics at camp, so I won't be able to update for a while. I think you guys are pretty much used to that with me now anyway. Hope you guys like the chapter!**

* * *

**_Naomi_**

I hate how she's looking at me. It's not like I _want_ to be here. Not any more than she wants to see me at least. More than that though, I hate how she _looks. _Worse than the first time I saw her. Two black eyes, torn clothes, fresh dry blood under her nose, cuts all over, gripping her side, and I wouldn't be surprised if the reason she's putting all her weight on her left foot is because she can't stand on the right one. I see injured people more than I see cars or trees or buildings; it's nothing new. But seeing her like this is giving me an unfamiliar feeling of anger and injustice; forming in my eyes and edging its way down to my clenched fists like poison; it's unnerving, to say the least. I don't know anything about this girl; but she doesn't deserve this.

I shove my hands in my pockets and straighten up. Christ, why don't I just _tell _her that I'm about to give her about one hundred and one things to hold over my head. I'm making it obvious enough with how bloody awkward my body language is; I can't even look her in the fucking eye. I'm a member of the fucking FBI. Toughen up, for fucks sake.

"Hi," I manage pathetically.

She glares at me with a face of exhaustion and an expression of annoyance; like she's pissed but almost can't be bothered to care.

"Brilliant," she sighs sarcastically. "Just the fucking person I wanted to see," there's honest resentment in her words. "Well, go on, Run off," she gestures behind herself, "You will anyways so spare me the time and breath it'll take to ask the same fucking questions I still won't get an answer to because-" she stops abruptly and grips her side harder, a small _'ah'_ hisses through her clenched teeth. She limps towards the wall for support. I rush towards her.

"Easy," I mutter while cautiously trying to support the arm that's she's not crushing against her ribs. Instead of pushing me away like I expected, she grabs my shoulder and grips it unsteadily until we reach the wall.

"I'm fine," she says, letting go of my shoulder and leaning her back on the cold brick surface. She's still a head and a half shorter but I have to admit her strength is imposing. "This is _your_ fault you know," she says calmly, "Because you just _had_ to interfere. I didn't ask for your help. I don't even know who the fuck you are."

She wipes at her bloody nose with the bottom of her torn t-shirt, exposing her stomach and giving me a glimpse of a large gash, surrounded by a multicolored bruise covering half of the left side of her rib cage. I pretend not to notice.

"Naomi," I say informally. She stares at me. "My name's Naomi," I confirm.

She says nothing for a few seconds before shaking her head faintly, "What do you want?"

I was only assigned to this mission yesterday, but twenty-four hours is a lot of stress and dread time when you're facing the possibility that you may have to reveal a fuck load more than you're comfortable with to someone who has every reason to use it against you. Honesty, unfortunately, is my only chance to get her to trust me; ironically enough. I should have just left her to that gang of pink-jacket-wearing, stupid-steroid-taking Barbie's.

"I need your help," I confess uncomfortably.

She pauses for a beat and lets out a single loud laugh of incredulous amusement, "You're kidding?"

I'm glaring at her like I want to melt her with my eyes. "No, I'm not," I tell her in a low aggravated tone, "I'm asking for your help."

She searches my face for any sign of dishonesty. When she doesn't find one the annoying amused smile on her face slowly starts to fade.

"Why should I help you?" She asks curiously.

"Because it could potentially save your- or your sister's –life," I answer like it's the most obvious thing.

"And how the fuck do you know I have a sister?" she asks, her rage on the brim of returning.

"Are you going to help me?" I retaliate.

She opens her mouth; then closes it. She looks at me with fire in her eyes as she opens her mouth again.

"Look," she growls, "clearly, I'm not going to get answers willingly from you so here's the deal: You tell me what I want to know and I'll hear you out."

I let out a heavy breath and lean against the wall next to her. "Fine," I say through a clenched jaw, "Shoot."

"Who are you?" She asks without a second's hesitation.

"I told you my name's Naomi."

"No, no more fucking games. You know perfectly fucking well what I mean. Who _are _you?"

I rub my face roughly with both hands as my shoulders tense up uncomfortably. Here goes everything.

"My name's Naomi Campbell and I am a secret agent for a very small, undercover organization part of the FBI."

She stares at me blankly for about five seconds before she gives up and surrenders to the laughing fit we both knew was coming.

"You're having a fucking laugh?" She breathes out. "Of all fake stories, of all fake names… Oh my god. That was pathetic, but go on I'm listening, give it one more go."

She's looking at me with amused eyebrows and expectant eyes. I predicted this would be her first reaction, so I brought my badge in preparation. I retrieve it out of a hidden pocket inside my shirt and pass it to her. It looks like a wallet at first glance but once you fold it open it reveals my career status. It's like a driver's license; has my photo and everything.

She opens it with furrowed eyebrows. I watch her eyes scan over everything, every word, every symbol; including the golden badge with the letters 'FBI' bolded in blue inside it. She looks at me with a strange expression.

"You really went full-out with this story, hey?"

It's my turn to get frustrated.

"Jesus Christ, what else do I have to do? What's it going to take to convince you that _I am not a bad guy_," I say, growing more agitated._ "_How the fuck do you think I can get away from you so fast? Or how you can never catch me? I'm trained in cardio-and more –that's how. I know your name, where you live, and that you have a sister because I got one of the guys I work with to fucking track you! It's funny, because, I'm telling you something that I'm _really_ not supposed to fucking tell _anyone, _and for your safety too! I'm revealing to you something _so_ top-secret and important you're probably the _only_ outsider that now knows of it and you don't even believe me. Speaking of which, you can't tell a soul about this little 'story' I'm telling you. Not a single person. No one," I finish my rant with a piercing stare so intense and serious, she swallows nervously.

"Okay," she raises her hands in mock surrender. "Let's say you are telling me the truth," she passes my badge back. "What's my sister's name?" She asks suddenly.

"Katie," I answer confidently.

She studies me for a moment, "Fine, I'll bite for now. So you're a secret FBI agent named Naomi Campbell. What do you want?"

"I need your help with an assignment. It's one of the biggest ones I've ever had to do and you're kind of essential. See, you're not supposed to know anything. You're not supposed to know who I am or that I work for the FBI. I'm supposed to be undercover and befriend you, only, my boss has no idea that we've already met- eh, sort of. I can't tell him because he'll actually probably fire me. There's a lot relying on this project. If he knew I've already met you that would mean I would have fucked up the mission before it even started, which wouldn't have impressed him. So I'm asking you to trust me." Her eyebrows shoot up at that, "Hang on," I say before she can interrupt, "Hear me out. Do you know Frederick Mclair?" I ask eagerly.

She groans dramatically, "Yeah, I know the prick of which you are speaking."

I feel some pressure lift off my shoulders. Things are going according to plan.

"He's a prick alright," I say. "Do you know who he is, Emily?"

"My sister's thirtieth boy toy," she says, looking disgusted.

"He's a part of a very dangerous gang, Emily."

She doesn't look surprised; she looks excited. "I _knew_ there was something dodgy about him! I fucking knew it!" She looks genuinely satisfied before her expression hardens. "I'm going to kill him. I swear to fucking god if he hurts my sister-"

"He's not going to hurt Katie," I interrupt, "That's what I'm here for. I _would _just grab the dipshit and throw him in jail but the whole point of this assignment is to get him to trust me. I'm trying to get some inside information here."

"Alright, fine," she shrugs, "Why do you need me?"

"I need you to get us acquainted; introduce us. Pass me off as a new friend of yours and arrange get-togethers, preferably at their house, that'll give me a chance to go through his stuff."

She raises an eyebrow, "Right. Why can't you just introduce yourself, or use Katie? Why am I being sucked into this shit?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale slowly; she's worse than my mother. I briefly explain to her everything Kieran told us about what happened to the others and why going through Frederick or Katie directly isn't the best idea.

She looks at me intensely once I've finished, "You're actually serious?"

"Yes, Emily. I'm a good guy, I promise. I'm trying to _help_. I figured that much would have been obvious, you know, considering our first encounter."

Her eyes scrunch shut tightly as she slowly rubs her temples. She looks absolutely beat; in more than one way. I know it was that same gang of girls that did this to her. I feel a rush of fury go through my body, but it quickly dissolves at the sound of her tired laugh.

"Yeah, a lot of _help_ that turned out to be," she mumbles grouchily. I don't get a chance to ask on it as she speaks again, "This is so fucked up," she says with another humorless chuckle. She shakes her head like she can't believe what she's about to do and, with a conflicted sigh, she lifts the hand that's not cradling her wounded rib cage and holds it out to me as the edges of her mouth quirk up the tiniest bit. I think that's the closest to a genuine smile she's granted me. I freely return it. The girl's contagious when she wants to be. "I still don't trust you," she says as I shake her hand. Her almost-smile is overrun by a look of great fatigue.

"I know." I reach into my jean pocket and retrieve my mobile. I hold it out to her, "But give me a chance, yeah?"

* * *

We both headed back to our own flats after exchanging numbers. I still can't believe what I did.

"_Thanks," I say as she hands my phone back to me. She nods once and I watch her small, slightly hunched form turn and start limping pitifully towards her building. Without thinking I open my phone to its new contact and hit dial. She's three steps away from the front doors when it starts ringing. _

_She takes it out of her pocket slowly and examines it skeptically for three rings before answering. She looks up and right at me as she answers._

"_Yeah?" Her raspy voice sounds scratchy through the phone. _

"_I just- I wanted to make sure you didn't give me a fake number," I stutter like a fucking mumbling idiot. _

"_Right," she replies in a half amused, half inpatient tone; in the same warm, hoarse voice. "Well I didn't."_

"_Yeah, great, thanks. I'll uh, I'll be in touch." _

"_Great."_

"_Good." _

"_Bye."_

"_Right, yeah, bye."_

After hanging up I gave her a small wave and quickly spun around to save myself from having to watch her reaction. _'Just wanted to make sure you didn't give me a fake number;' _Jesus fucking Christ.

It's still on my mind when I walk through the door to my flat. Effy's sitting carelessly on the couch watching the telly like usual; tea in hand and legs tucked beneath her.

"Good day?" She asks as I sit on the couch next to her.

"Same as any other," I reply, grabbing her tea and taking a sip.

"How'd it go with the redhead?" She asks, snatching her tea back with a flick to my nose.

I told Effy about Kieran's new assignment for us as soon as I woke up from my stress nap yesterday. I told her the girl I ran from in the coffee shop was named Emily and I had to get her to trust me. _'Have fun with that one,' _she'd teased. I promised to keep her updated.

"Better than expected. She didn't believe me at first; I had to show her my badge and do some explaining. She didn't attack me either, which is a plus. I can't say I wasn't expecting her to lose her shit as soon as she saw me; not that she could have done much in the state she was in. God, you should have seen her Eff. She looked awful; bloody nose, black puffy eyes, limping, ripped clothes that were dirty as fuck, and practically half of her left rib cage was dark purple with this harsh gash in the center."

Effy eyes widen slightly as her eyebrows rise a bit. "Jesus," she says sadly.

"I bet you anything it was the same group of girls I chased after the first night I met her."

"Probably," she says vacuously.

We're both silent for a few minutes; the only sound in the room being the telly. Some horrible soap is playing; a girl just slapped her best friend because she found out she fucked her dad or some shit like that.

It's been a few minutes and I'm about to leave the room when Effy speaks again.

"What are you going to do?"

It's one of those complex questions that only mean what you want them to. I don't want to think about what it implies; I'm not going to do anything about it because it's none of my business, I shouldn't have interfered the first time.

"It's getting late," I say, avoiding her question; and her eyes. "I think I'm going to head to bed."

She looks at me with a smirk that says 'nice save' and eyes that say 'I noticed' but she lets me off the hook anyway. "Suit yourself, grandma."

"Oi!" I exclaim, "You just remember who pays for that damn tea, Stonem."

* * *

I'm awoken the next morning by my phone buzzing twice in quick succession on my bedside table. I groggily throw my hand in what I think is its general direction, pick it up, and check it. A small message on the screen tells me, to my surprise, that I have a text from Emily. That's strange.

**I'll be at Courtney's today. You wanted a chance.**

Hoping out of bed, I head to the bathroom with the exciting thought that for a change, I can actually enjoy my shower instead of using it as a scheduled time to go over the days' potential productivity.

* * *

After briefly checking on a sleep induced Effy, I made my way to the secluded Coffee shop. It's almost February; the snow has stopped and the ice has melted, but it's still frosty and freezing. The frost this morning is covering the grass so subtly; all the green softly illuminated by an incandescent grey.

She's waiting for me outside, leaning against the front wall with a leather-jacket covered-arm wrapped around her petite waist and a fag relaxing on her bottom lip; her distinct hair matching the red door frames and catching my attention from a mile away. As I approach and she notices me, she takes one last savory drag before throwing her cigarette carelessly on the ground and stepping on it. She doesn't look nearly as dreadful as yesterday. There's a faint outline of a bruise around each of her eyes and her lips still have mini slits in them where the cuts were, but considering what she looked like yesterday, she did a good fucking job hiding her injuries.

"Nice job," I say, pointing out her work.

"Yeah," she says, averting her eyes distractedly and wrapping her other arm around her waist, "It took fucking ages."

"I bet."

She bites her lip as her eyebrows scrunch together slightly and she looks back at me. "C'mon then," she says after a moment's pause.

She's not limping anymore either, I notice, as she leads the way through the doors. The second we step inside all the tension palpably drains from her face. Her conflicted brown eyes become fervent again and a content expression replaces the previous sour one. It's capturing, watching her expressive face, specifically for the reason that it's expressive. From her obvious attempts at hiding her cuts and bruises, I assume she keeps her business to herself, which I can relate to. She's quiet but, without realising it, her eyes betray her. So it's interesting, to watch as small pieces of what she'll never willingly reveal show themselves at unexpected times in small gestures that go unnoticed by most. Everything she feels, all her hidden thoughts, are supressed in those doe eyes.

"Hey Courtney," she says happily, snapping me out of my silent observation. She points at the familiar table that I sat in last time I was here and instructs me to sit while she walks up to the girl behind the counter to get our drinks. Last time I sat at that table I took a liking to gazing out the window; Emily being here with me only heightens that temptation. This café isn't exactly the biggest place in the world; I don't have to strain to hear their conversation.

"The usual?" Asks the girl behind the counter, who I'm assuming is Courtney.

"Yeah, please," Emily says, "But make it two."

Courtney yells something into the back, our order I'm guessing, before returning her attention to Emily. "So, who's this then?"

Emily scoffs and I don't have to be looking to know she just rolled her eyes. "Long story," she says.

"Right, okay," Courtney says playfully. "You going to that interview tomorrow then?"

"Yeah, I'm going."

You know, hearing Emily speak without looking at her makes you realize how unique her voice is; it's calming. I can see why Emily takes accustom to this particular shop. Emily's voice is calming like the shop's aroma and Emily's eyes are complex like the shop's design. Both are interesting; they fit.

Another thirty seconds of casual conversation go by before Emily sits across from me with our drinks. I start searching my pockets for my wallet, probably looking like a jackass in the process.

"It's fine," Emily says just as I find the right pocket.

"No, it's okay, here-"

"I said it's fine Naomi," she slides the money I placed on the table back towards me, "I won't accept your money."

She doesn't leave room for compromise and it's clear her decision is final. Reluctantly, I place the money in my wallet and put it back in my pocket.

"I'm glad you showed up," she says, to my surprise. "I was worried you might have given me a phony number." A cautious cheeky smile begins on her face, successfully banishing any possible awkward air.

"Whatever," I scowl. Bitch.

She chuckles softly and takes a tentative sip of her drink. I copy her actions, discovering that the drink she bought me is just regular tea.

"So, what's this interview that girl- uh, Courtney? Was talking about," I've meant to ask her since I heard the girl say it.

"Yeah, that's Courtney, the owner," she points at the girl behind the counter who's now writing something on a small note pad, "She was talking about a job interview."

"Oh? For where?"

"There's this restaurant not far from here, they're looking for waitresses."

"Oh, great," I smile.

"So," she says into her cup, "This gang, tell me about it."

"It's big," is my first thought. "And dangerous. There are a lot of people involved, Frederick being one of them, and the numbers are rising. It's only a matter of time before this whole thing is out of our hands, which is why we're trying to shut it down from the inside, it's already a little overwhelming."

"Speaking of," she says the second I stop talking, "Why did you help me?"

"Pardon?"

"The night we first met you chased Candice and her clones off me. Why?"

"Uh," I mutter, avoiding her eyes, "If you saw someone getting gang beat and you knew you had the ability to stop it, wouldn't you?"

"Probably not," she says bluntly, "Not for a complete stranger," she looks pointedly at me.

I shrug, "I'm not you."

She studies me thoughtfully in a way that reminds me of Effy before asking her next question.

"What's with the necklace?" She asks warily.

"Oh, uh," I stall. I am not about to tell her my father's dead. She knows too much as it is. "A friend of mine gave it to me." Oh yeah, that sounded convincing.

"Right," she stretches the word out just bit. Something gives me the impression that she doesn't believe me.

Our conversation continues like that, alternating between stiffly uncomfortable and effortlessly casual as we learn through trial and error what topics to avoid. Our tea is eventually disregarded as we get more familiar with each other- on some level, anyway –and as she talks about her flatmate, Cook, and her burning, immortal hate for her sister's boyfriend who I've now learned goes by Freddie, not Frederick, I have to try harder and harder with each passing second to ignore everything going on inside me. I have to ignore it, because if I don't, a lot of people are going to get hurt, whereas if I do, only _I _will get hurt. I have to ignore it, no matter how hard the struggle. I _have_ to ignore the frantic, uncertain beat of my heart ringing in my ears; and the excited jumping-jacks and agitated summer-salts my stomach doesn't want to stop doing; and the compulsion to scan her flawless neck every time she leans her head back to laugh that stupid, soothing, low laugh that sends angry shivers throughout my entire body. Shivers I have to ignore.

It's hard, but it's me. I'm used to this, I've had enough practice. I've put myself in impacting positions, not thinking about the emotional affect it will have on me, my entire life. And when that brutal blow of pain and guilt and _regret_ hit me, I ignore it, because that's my job, that was the condition; help stop some of the United Kingdom's most wanted but live a life of secrecy. I have no choice. It doesn't matter if this is the most distracting splurge of _feeling _I've had in all the time I've had this job. It _doesn't matter_ how _badly_ I want to murder those fuckers in the pink jackets every time I notice a spot where the hours of makeup work failed to fully hide what she won't talk about, and it doesn't matter how badly I wish she would. It doesn't matter because this is my job. My job that pays for my mum's house- even though she doesn't know it –and ensures my best friend and only available listener is sheltered and safe and stable. My job is the supporter of the few things I get to have that make me happy, and I can't risk that. Not for anything or anyone, and as shitty as it is, that includes beautiful redheads with expressive chocolate eyes.

* * *

**Alright, that's it for a while. I have the next chapter planned out, it'll just be a while before I can write it. Thanks for sticking with me guys.**

**-Shae**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys, I'm so sorry for this incredibly late update. Just work and camp and the usual I have no good excuse. Thank you all so much for the reviews, I really really appreciate it and it's super encouraging. Plus, sixty one followers! Wow, only seven chapters in. You guys are amazing and this story is dedicated to all of you and your support and stuff. Anyway, one thing, I told myself I would never ever ONCE ask for reviews, but hear me out. I'm not talking about reviewing the story, I'm talking about my writing. I was just wondering, is my writing style and the way write, like, alright? If there's anything I could do to improve please let me know! Anyway, thanks for sticking with me guys, here you go!**

* * *

_Emily_

My favorite part about going out with Cook is how it makes everything else seem so inadequate in comparison; so unimportant. It makes all the problematic issues in my life seem like a fly that I can't get out of my room; annoying, but nothing to stress over. Whereas, when I'm sober and not with Cook, I have to face reality, where everything hits me like a brick to the face; Jenna, James' bullying problem, Candice and her girls, University, and my most recent hindering situation; Naomi Campbell. Not the gorgeous super model Naomi Campbell, but the undercover FBI agent Naomi Campbell, the one who has invaded my life without my permission. It really is as random as it sounds. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. I have to keep reminding myself that she's not my enemy. Of course, a stranger knowing more about my personal life than I told Cook in the first year of knowing him, regardless of their career status, isn't exactly a friend in my book. In all fairness, her actions were legitimately justified, but there's still this stubborn pull that's making sure my defenses are alert. I'm trying to just accept it and go along with this mission thing, but old habits die hard I guess. She's causing so many conflicting thoughts that I've been doing as much clubbing as possible, trying to stop the furious battle of words and opinions going on inside my brain with the glorious, euphoric fog of alcohol and spliff. On one hand I know she's on my side and she's trying to help me. On the other, there's something about her that makes me want to reject her more than most people. It's frustrating because I don't know what it is about her that makes me so wary. I met up with her at Courtney's yesterday and she surprised me with how casual she is when she's not wearing a mask.

See this? Even when I'm out trying to forget about her for a bit, because she's all I've been thinking about for the past twenty-four hours, I end up stressing about her. Not necessarily _bad_ stress, just, stress.

I rely on the thump of the base of a particularly repetitive song to chase away the words swarming my mind since I can't consume any alcohol of weed tonight. I have that job interview first thing in the morning. Luckily for me, Candice and her clones beat me up two days ago so the scrapes and bruises are easy to cover up. For the first time in months I have a set interview during a time where I won't look like a street kid. I will not let something as adolescent as a hangover jeopardise this opportunity. The vibrations of this song and the gyrations of the bodies around me are going to have to do for tonight.

However, unfortunately, Cook happens.

"C'mon Ems, time to go," he rushes out as he grabs my hand and starts to drag me through the crowd.

"Cook, what the fuck is-"

"OI!"

Still jogging after Cook, I manage a look behind us and see a group of what looks like five or six large, angry brutes pushing through as many people as possible and advancing in our direction.

"Fuck sakes Cook," I mumble as we sprint through the front doors, "every fucking time."

* * *

"Sorry 'bout that Em, I didn't want to leave ya there."

"It's fine Cook. I should have thought about leaving soon anyway," I say, closing the door to our flat with my foot.

"Why's that?"

"I've got a job interview tomorrow, I told you that."

"Oh yeah! Fuckin' ace Emilio man," he smiles proudly at me and lights up a spliff, falling onto the couch with his first drag.

"Right." He knows I'm not allowing myself any intoxicating substances tonight and if he thinks I'm going to hang out with him while he smokes his spliff and downs all the alcohol he wants, I have some serious doubt in my best friend's courtesy. "Well," I announce, kicking off my shoes, "I'm going to bed. Night Cook."

He yells some slurred protests which turn into drowsy mumbles half way through the first sentence. I just ignore it and continue to follow the silent call of my bed down the hallway. He's absolutely trashed and won't remember a thing in the morning anyway.

* * *

I wake up naturally for the first time in what feels like years. I can't remember the last time I woke up when _I_ was ready. My sleep wasn't disrupted by a bothersome Cook, or a troublesome nightmare, not even the forever annoying _beep_ of my tiny, piece of shit alarm clock. Of course, something must be wrong, because this is way too good to be true.

My stomach freezes over and I become ten times more aware of my rancid morning breath as my mouth goes sand dry with the dreadful realization of what I hope to god I didn't do. I shoot up in bed, scanning my room frantically, my eyes land on something that I've never been more grateful for than in this moment; my alarm clock, the one telling me it's only eight and I still have an hour before my interview.

The sigh that confirmation emits from me doesn't come close to displaying my relief. I don't know what I would do if I actually had slept in, if I missed my interview, my only chance. Knowing my luck, it wouldn't have been be surprising. I stretch my arms out and let the morning yawns do their rounds before hopping up and grabbing the clothes I already decided on last night while I was thinking about what outfit to wear to the interview, and heading to the bathroom. I get to take my time in the shower this morning; another rare privilege.

Half an hour later I'm washed, dried, and dressed; that includes the extra ten minutes of makeup work the bruises around my eyes took. It's not a long walk but if I leave now I won't have to deal with Cook. I don't make a habit of avoiding things, but today I can't risk being held up, or worse, getting pissed off. I'm still a little resentful over last night. I needed the distraction more than ever and he took that from me. I'm only letting it go because his intentions were in the right place.

Walking through the kitchen and towards the front door, I'm not surprised to see Cook crashed on the couch. I was hoping that'd be the expected outcome of last night, it makes my morning easier.

The walk takes a little longer than usual but I still have ten minutes before my interview; just enough time for a fag. Lighting it up, I sit down at one of the customer tables outside and rest my head on my hand. Times like these, where I have time to waste time, are what I've gone out of my way to avoid recently. I've been replacing Courtney's with clubs and my tea with alcohol. Courtney's is where I go when I need time to think, when I want to think. Now, I can't think of anything worse than being left alone with my thoughts; they consume me too easily and usually end up taking me to a place that leaves no benefit for me or anyone else around. I don't want this to happen now, not before my interview, but fuck it, can't stop what's already happening.

Naomi. The one and only thing I'm trying desperately to banish from my mind. Seeing her in person is one thing, I don't need her pushing me up against walls and jumping from buildings in my mind too. She's on my side; I came to that conclusion last night. I don't trust her but I believe her, if that makes sense. I can't trust someone who invaded my privacy the way she did. People knowing anything about my personal life is something I actually am afraid of and I'll only ever admit it in my head. Jesus, would Candice ever have fun with that information.

Checking my watch with a panicked jolt, I throw my fag on the ground and step on it. I still have five minutes but before I can move from my seat-

"Emily?"

The exact reason for my excessive stress has to show up now. I vaguely remember saying something about having shit luck once.

"Oh, Naomi. Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

I have a first instinct reflex to tell her it's none of her business for a split second, but I'm not that angry street kid anymore. Plus, she's looking at me like… I don't know. Her eyes are just really blue.

"Job interview," I say, pointing to the front doors to hanks with my thumb.

"Don't you have a job?"

Again, I want to snap about staying out of my business, but she's genuinely curious and her eyes just… Fuck sakes. See why I try not to think about her? It's like I want to strangle her for asking questions, but I also want to be around her and figure out why her eyes do that thing. It's a piss off though because I don't know why the fuck I even care. Her eyes make me want to look into them and then I feel bad for doing it. Why do I even feel bad? Fuck sakes, see what I mean? I'm going to wind myself up and she's only been here thirty seconds.

"No, I've been trying to get a job for months," I tell her.

"You should have told me that. I would have got JJ to hook you up," she says and as soon as that first touch of pity touches her expression I know I need to shut this down.

"I can manage myself Naomi," I say, rougher than intended. "Thanks though, for the thought," I add quickly. "And uh, I'd love to stay and chat, but you know this is sort of like a really important event that I have to attend so I'll talk to you later." I'm already walking towards the door when she replies,

"I'll hold you to that."

I stop where I am, look over my shoulder at her, and raise my eyebrows. She raises hers right back. I scoff, for lack of a better response, and continue towards the door, waving carelessly over my shoulder as I go.

* * *

"Well, you seem fine to me Ms. Fitch. Courtney always knows who to recommend. First thing Monday sound good to you?"

I'm paralyzed and speechless as Hank stands in front of me with a uniform and a kind smile. I stand by my comment about not everyone being a condescending asshole.

"Yeah, sure, no problem, Monday's perfect, I'll be here," I rush out perhaps a little too excitedly.

I bask in the warmth of his smile as he hands me my new uniform, "See you then. Eight o'clock sharp!" He calls, disappearing into the kitchen.

I head outside for another fag before I have to walk home. Now what? I have a job. I actually have a fucking full-time job with good fucking pay and easy fucking requirements. All I have to do is take orders, serve people, and clean up at the end of the day. Cook pays for the flat so I can start saving up all my money for a car or university; I could even get a new guitar if I wanted.

My common sense and usual cascade of conflicting thoughts are overshadowed by the euphoric buzz coursing through me. Dismissing every protestant thought and forgetting any negative emotion, I'm taking my phone out and dialing before reality reinstates itself. It only rings once.

"Hey."

"I got the job," I blurt.

"Oh hey, that's great Emily."

You know that tone people speak in over the phone and even though they don't sound excited you know they're smiling? She sounds happier when she speaks like that; like she's smiling. I wish I could see her smile right now; it takes the sadness out of her eyes for a few seconds.

"Anyway," she continues, "it's good you called. I'm at work, I just had to talk to my boss about how the assignment's going so far and I've been told, and I quote, to 'hurry my cute little arse up' and arrange something with Freddie. I was going to call you in like ten minutes to see if I could come to yours and we could figure something out maybe…?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," I say casually. "I'm heading home now so I'll just meet you outside."

"Sounds good; see you then."

"See you."

I close my phone, throw what's left of my fag on the cement, and start walking before I have time to be alone in my head again. Every feeling and thought that occurred in me in the last ten minutes was purely because I'm stoked I finally got a job. That's it. I won't let any of it be because of anything else.

When I arrive, she's already here; leaning against the wall next to the complex's front doors. The second I see her goose-bumps erupt and spread like fire down my spine and over my arms. My stomach jolts with nervous flutters and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It's such a fucked up reaction; I can't tell if I'm nervous, excited, or if my body's trying to tell me to get the fuck away from her. I think it's all three combined.

The second _she _sees _me_, she smiles. It's not a huge smile, like she's overly excited about my presence or something; it's just a genuine, kind smile to say hello. Actually, it's more than that. That smile, the one she's walking towards me with now, is the one that banishes the sadness and makes her blue eyes bright again for a few refreshing seconds. My 'no longer unemployed' high wore off as soon as I started walking; but now, I think it just took a break for a few minutes, went for a bath, and flooded my brain again because the euphoric buzz is back but it's not excited anymore; it's calm, content. It's warm.

"Hey." Her tone matches her smile.

"Hi." Mine sounds distracted.

Her smile fades, slowly at first, then all at once; taking her vulnerabilities and the warmth I felt with it. Two seconds ago I was admiring a warm, light blue sky. Now, I'm intrigued by angry navy blue waves, crashing treacherously beneath a freezing thunderstorm. Two seconds. In two seconds she went from an ordinary house with a white picket fence and a welcome mat, to a dark, abandoned, Shrieking Shack remake.

"You got the job," she offers a small smile that looks like plastic. "Congrats."

"Thanks," I say as we start walking towards the doors to my complex.

The walk to my floor alternates between small talk and foreign buzzing thoughts. It's when we reach my floor that the realization hits me that I'm going to have to introduce her to Cook.

"Give me strength," I mutter to the ceiling as we approach my door. Once inside, we take off our shoes and I show her around the kitchen-living room area. I turn to face her, "Ready?"

"For what?" She asks obliviously.

I smirk at her. "Cook!" I yell towards the hallway that leads to our rooms.

"Who's that?" She asks, still clueless.

"My flatmate; I told you about him yesterday at Courtney's. Remember?"

"Oh, right."

"Cook!" I yell again.

"Alright, alright! I'm coming, keep your fucking knickers on!" He says as he emerges from his bedroom.

"Cook, this is Naomi, a friend of mine."

He grins like he hadn't noticed Naomi until I mentioned her. Walking up to her, he fastens his best Cook smile into place and holds out his hand, "Alright, blondie?"

A small, amused half-smile greets Cook's welcoming grin as she accepts his hand. "Cook," she nods.

He claps once, "Alright then," He announces, "So what are you two up to? Thought you'd stop by for some Cookie love?"

"Yeah, you wish," I tell him. "We're going to my room. We have stuff to do."

"I bet," he winks.

I grab Naomi's wrist gently and lead her through the living room and towards the hallway, shooting Cook a muffled "Wanker" as I pass him. He winks a second time.

Closing my door behind us, I walk across my room and sit on my bed while Naomi takes a few seconds to look around. She looks extremely focused for someone observing a bedroom.

"Sorry it's a bit of a mess. I'm not here that often so I don't really bother cleaning up much," I say as nonchalantly as possible, hoping she doesn't think I'm a slob.

"I didn't even think it was messy," she says as she paces around my room. "And I totally get that, I'm never home either. The only reason my place is clean is because my roommate cleans it. She doesn't have much else to do really." She absent-mindedly picks up a small picture resting on top of my dresser and fiddles with it.

"Wow, I wish my roommate did that," I say jokingly, watching her as she examines the picture more intently. Looking down at the small framed photo with furrowed eyebrows, she tucks a stray strand of intruding, light blond hair that had fallen carelessly into her path of sight behind her ear. I'm mesmerized by the action before I can even think about preventing my body from reacting. A second later, I'm captivated. She's so carelessly beautiful. The way her hair falls and always looks naturally perfect, or the way her healthy body is impeccably sized in every place, or her flawless blue eyes that never fail to capture my attention, even when it's against my will.

You know, there was a time where maybe, I'd be able to say the same about myself. It's something else no living human will ever hear me admit, but it's a damper on a girl's confidence when she constantly has to match the color of her eye shadow to that of her bruise. I'm independent, I can take a hit, but it's been a few months; you can't blame me for thinking any beauty I may have possessed once is far from gone. Candice and her girls took it from me; they destroyed that asset of mine. They beat the pretty out of me and covered it with scars, each one representing its own battle and hiding its own story. I got over it a long time ago, but something like that stays with you whether you think it does or not.

"Is this your sister?" Naomi asks, flipping the frame around in her hands to show me. I forgot I had that one; it was the only good one of Katie and I that I managed to save from my fucked up mothers house.

"Does she look like me?" I ask back sarcastically.

"Alright, alright," she grumbles as she turns to put the picture back. "Cheeky." She comes over and sits next to me. The hairs on my arm magnetize towards her on their own accord. "She's pretty," she says casually.

"Yeah, she is," I agree, zoning out on a spot on the floor.

"So, how are we going to do this?" she asks as she bumps our shoulders together.

"What?" I stutter stupidly, recovering from my previous dazed state.

"Freddie? Remember? The reason I'm here?" She waves her hand in front of my face briefly and chuckles softly.

"Oh, yeah. How about I call them?" I offer. "I can do it now and arrange something."

"Yeah, sure, good idea."

Naomi watches me during the entire phone call. I bet Cook could hear Katie from his room across the hall, exclaiming in surprise through the phone at my sudden interest in her boyfriend. As if.

Hanging up I smile at Naomi, whose smiling back. "We're meeting them at a club tomorrow."

"Great," she says; then softer, "Thanks Emily."

And just like that her secret smile appears and banishes any disappointment I had at the prospect of having to see my sister's boyfriend.

* * *

Naomi's been here for about an hour; we've spent the entire time brainstorming idea's to interrogate our suspect. Her fragile scent of a light perfume-tinted vanilla has settled in my room and every time it invades my nostrils my stomach clenches. We're discussing appearances and what sort of hints to look for when Naomi says something interesting enough to take me off guard.

"Oh! I completely forgot to tell you," she says excitedly, "if you see a small 'M' anywhere on him, point it out to me immediately. I mean anything at all; stitched into his clothes, a necklace, a ring, a tattoo, _anything._ Keep an eye out for that."

She stares at me, awaiting a response, but my eyes are glued to the floor as the cogs move and the pieces fit in my head. "Candice…" I whisper absent-mindedly. I snap my eyes up to meet her confused expression. "Candice!" I exclaim.

"Who?" she asks, obviously not following me at all.

"Candice, Naomi! Wear's a stupid pink leather jacket, always with three other girls, likes to beat the shit out of me," I drag out my examples.

She stalls for a minute, her face shifting between suppressed rage and softness before she answers. "Yeah, I know who you're talking about now," she says like that silent minute of contorted expressions didn't just happen.

"Candice and her girls have an 'M' stitched into the backs of their jackets."

Her eyebrows instantly furrow as she subtly bites her lip. "Yeah, yeah, I think I remember seeing that…" She says, lost in thought. She stays like that, sitting cross-legged in front of me on my bedroom floor biting her lip subconsciously for what feels like minutes. Not that I mind.

Her head snaps up and a glorious smile breaks out and almost blinds me with the best kind of surprise.

"You're bloody brilliant, Emily Fitch."

* * *

"Sorry I can't drive you," I apologize for the third time as we reach the bottom floor.

"Emily, I told you it's fine, I'm perfectly capable of walking for ten minutes or so. I can't believe you don't have a car though. You're lucky your job is close."

"Yeah," I mumble, getting sidetracked by her eyes again.

"I'll keep my eyes open for a cheap vehicle or you," she says with a smile that's genuine but isn't her _secret _smile. Clueing in that she's actually being really fucking kind, I force my attention out of her eyes.

"Thank you Naomi. That would help a lot actually. I wouldn't know where to look for a cheap car without going to a dealer or a past customer or, you know, stealing it," I finish with an uncomfortable laugh.

"Not a problem," she says, gently touching my shoulder. "So," she takes her hand away, making me feel cold, "I'll talk to Kieran tomorrow and bring him up to date on our progress and then, when you're ready, you know, off work and stuff, text me and I'll come over and we can get ready for the club together. Sound good?"

I can't exactly pinpoint the emotion in her eyes. Excitement, hope, eagerness, something like that; she looks pleased, anyway.

"Sounds perfect," I reply, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'll text you."

"Alright," she starts walking backwards, "Bye Emily, see you tomorrow!" She grants me one more look at her special smile before turning and heading home. I can't seem to look away. Figures, that when I'm about to, she stops me.

"Oh, and Emily!" She yells from fifty feet away.

"Yeah?" I yell back.

"Thanks for giving me that chance."

I have to smile, because it's unexpected, because it's cute, because _she's _cute.

Wait, no, fuck off.

"Yeah, yeah," I say, brushing it off. "Whatever Campbell. See you tomorrow!"

I faintly hear her laughter as she turns again and eventually disappears from sight. I didn't _mean _to watch her the whole time, I just zoned out. For the first time all day, I'm not disappointed to be heading back into Cook's presence. I'm over it. The resentment I had towards him, that he obviously didn't pick up on, is now overshadowed by positives; like getting a job, and Naomi. I mean, seeing her tomorrow and all. I haven't gone clubbing with someone other than Cook in fucking ages. It'll be refreshing, different, a change. Naomi strikes me as a loyal friend. That's something else I guess I've gotten over; Naomi's my friend now. I'm not talking besties or any ridiculous shit like that, just, not enemy's anymore. We hang out and text and do things that friends do.

Tomorrow I suspect I'll probably go overboard on anything I can, because I have a job and a new friend and nothing bad could _possibly_ go wrong now because things are going too great. Plus, Naomi will be there. I don't need protecting, I'll _never_ need protecting, but if something was to happen, she'd help me. I don't have to ask her to know that. She's already told me without realizing. I don't think she even realizes what little control she has over what her eyes project sometimes. She won't let anything drastic happen, and I don't have to ask her to know that.

I'm safe with her.

* * *

**There! Hope it was worth the wait maybe a little bit? Let me know if you like. Thanks for reading :)**

**-Shae.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys, I'm sorry, you know the rest. If it's any consolation, this chapter is like 2,460 words longer than what I usually post, so I hope that makes it maybe a little worth the wait. Thank you so much for the STILL continuing support from all of you, I love you all too much. The reviews, the favorites, the follows, I've even made a new friend. You guys are just great. Now, don't hate me. Enjoy :)**

* * *

**_Naomi_**

Yesterday couldn't have been more successful. The progress I made with Emily hasn't only improved my job situation regarding Freddie, but I think she's starting to feel a little more comfortable around me as well. I'm lucky. I know I'm lucky. I don't know if I'd _ever_ feel comfortable around anyone who breached my privacy the way I did to Emily; grant you, if you're me, someone knowing things you didn't tell them is a little more serious than if you're someone else. All the same, she's in the process of forgiving me- I hope –and that's more than I deserve.

I can't explain what happened two days ago at that little coffee place. Every thought that intruded, every feeling that overruled, I don't know what they were. None of those thoughts or emotions hit me yesterday, not a single butterfly or goosebump. It must have been nerves or excitement; nervous that she wouldn't give me a chance, and excited that she might. All I can tell you about yesterday is that Emily was lovely; introduced me to Cook, showed me her room, helped immensely with the assignment. She really is quiet extraordinary, Emily is. I don't mean an amazing kind of extraordinary, I mean, I do! But I just, that's not what I… Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, she's an unexpected sort of extraordinary.

She completely surprised me. Gone was the angry, defensive, fiery redhead from the alley; in her place was this quiet, interesting, soft brown-eyed girl. Little quirks and habits I don't think she knows she has, keep replaying in my head in the same scenarios that she demonstrated them in last night. When she frantically tried to hide that she felt guilty for snapping at me outside Hanks Restaurant; when she apologized for the twentieth time for not being able to drive me home; and how she zones out at random times, sometimes looking at the floor, sometimes at me. When she spaces out, it's not her actions or her words that betray her, it's her eyes; her expression. If I interrupt her when she's off in her own world like that, the look she gives me is always so intense and focused, but it's also sparkled with wonder and confusion; like she's seeing me again for the first time, only in different circumstances. The look only ever lasts a speed second, and it's the hardest speed second to try to catch.

She's funny too, and she smells ridiculously good, and she's modest, and she does this thing where she bites her lip just before she stops laughing. It was just like going to see any friend; only I have this nagging feeling like I'm staring at a pie, trying for the life of me to figure out what kind it is. There are so many possibilities, but why do I care? It's just pie. She's just Emily.

I have to go talk to Kieran about her again today. I told him yesterday that I'd befriended her and that we were going to hang out and plan a date with Freddie and Katie. He demanded I see him the next day. So here I am, at home, waiting for the coffee to brew while Effy sits in her favorite spot on the couch, reading a red book with brown pages. I wonder if Emily's read it.

"Morning Eff," I call over the counter.

"Morning. Don't you have a job thing today?" She asks, her eyes not daring to leave her book.

"Yeah, I'm gone as soon as the coffee's done." She hums in response. It takes another minute going by and fresh coffee in a to-go mug for me to mentally smack myself for being such a twat. I can't believe I didn't think of this before. "Hey Eff," I'm half way out the door when she looks up. "Emily and I are going to a club tonight to meet up with Katie and Frieddie. Do you want to come?"

She smiles a brief but genuine smile before answering with a shrug and a "Why not."

"Alright, see you later!" I rush out, closing the door behind me.

* * *

As I head up the stairs, to Kieran's office, I can't help but feel glad Effy's coming with us tonight. She hardly ever leaves the house, and I'm never around to do anything with her. I owe her some time.

"Morning Naoms," JJ says to me as I near the coffee table just outside Kieran's office. "Where've you been lately?"

"I've been doing my job J," I say groggily, setting my mug down on the small table and rubbing some sleep out of my eyes.

"Oh yes, of course. Speaking of which, how's your part going? I've been working on a couple different projects recently because, as you may know, right now the rest of us are on stand-by for this assignment. I did my part in tracking them down, now we're all just waiting to see how far you get." He takes a sip of his coffee, looking at me expectantly. I open my mouth to respond, but the sound of Kieran's door opening interrupts my answer.

"Ah, Campbell," he says with outstretched arms and a toothy grin.

"Hey boss," I smile back at him. "See you later J," I say behind me as I follow Kieran into his office. JJ gives me a dorky little wave and a shy smile before turning himself and heading back to his desk.

"So," Kieran says, taking a seat in the chair at the head of the table closest to us. "What have you got for me?"

I stay standing because really, I'm not going to be here for that long. "Emily called her sister yesterday while I was over at her place. We're going to meet her and Freddie at a club tonight."

"Perfect! I knew you'd be a good choice for this assignment Campbell. And Emily still doesn't know who you are?"

This lie is dangerous, and not just because the person I'm lying to is my boss. I know Kieran would never fire me unless he had to, but the point is, this lie _is_ big enough to put my job at risk. Not that that'll stop me.

"Not a clue," I smile.

"Alright then, you're free, get out and don't let me down," seemingly satisfied with my answer, Kieran gestures towards the door behind him.

I exit his office with a sick feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. I've never lied to Kieran before. I don't like this, but I'm in too deep to fix it now.

Instead of leaving, I go to the second floor where JJ works. People underestimate JJ's ability to fix complicated situations just because he's a little socially awkward and has a tendency to ramble and stutter. If anyone can help me with this situation, it's him.

Approaching his desk, I don't hesitate. I lean over the side, my hands hitting the wood surface suddenly, causing JJ to jump. "I have to tell you something," I say maybe a bit too urgently if the concern and alarm on his face is anything to go by. Instead of asking me what was going on or even saying anything at all like I expected him to, he just stiffly nods once and stands to follow me outside.

The first thing I do as soon as we're through the old exit door is take out a smoke. I'm not sure if it's because it's a habit, or if it's because I desperately need one considering my stress level went from mild to freaking out over the last thirty seconds. I'm pretty sure JJ doesn't smoke but I feel rude not offering him one.

"Oh, no thank you," JJ says, putting up his hand politely as I hold the package out to him. He waits patiently while I shrug and light my own. He stays quiet while I take a long, much-needed first drag and hold it in until I start going light-headed. After a few more restless moments, JJ breaks the tension.

"What's going on, Naomi? I don't think I've ever seen you so… Nervous." He's looking at me with big eyes; the kind of big eyes that insist on helping even though they know you don't want it.

"I've done something J, and I'm having a hard time deciding just how bad it is."

"Try me," he says kindly.

"I lied to Kieran," I blurt out. JJ's eyes widen slightly, pushing me to continue before I lose the courage. "I pretended I didn't know who Emily was, when really I'd already met her- in very complicated circumstances might I add- then I went and told Emily who _I_ was because there's no way this mission was going to work out if I _didn't_ tell her, due to past… Instances between us. I didn't have a choice; it was either tell Emily who I was or tell Kieran we'd already met and ruin the assignment. So now I have to remember Kieran doesn't know that Emily knows that I work for the FBI every time I talk to him. Are you seeing my dilemma here?"

JJ opens and closes his mouth a few times before sighing heavily and leaning against the wall.

"Okay," he breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose, "How do you know Emily?"

I don't answer right away because that question completely catches me off guard. JJ coughing once reminds me I still have to answer him, whether I want to or not.

"I may have fought a gang off her," I mumble, avoiding JJ's eyes. Some FBI agent I am, hey?

"What was that?" He asks.

I sigh heavily and meet his eyes, "I fought a gang off her."

"Why?" His voice is calm, in a way that makes me feel comfortable; he's not judging me.

"I don't know!" I yell towards the sky, throwing my arms in the air in defeat. "Because she looked helpless, because I was in the area, because it seemed like a good thing to do at the time, take your pick." I take another deep drag from my fag, toss it on the ground and step on it.

"You know we're not supposed to get involved, Naomi," He says softly. I don't think I've ever seen JJ so focussed before.

"What do you think I've been telling myself, J? If you can tell me why I did it then please do. It just felt like the right thing to do, that's really the only way I can justify it."

"You realize that if you had told Kieran you already knew Emily, there's a ninety-one point seven percent chance that the mission would still be launched? He would have just figured out a different way in for you."

In all honesty, I did think of that. The second he said Emily's name when he spoke to me privately about how I was to go about this assignment, telling him was the first thing that popped in my head. The almost instantaneous second thought was that telling him wasn't an option. I didn't even get any say in my own decision, I'm telling you. My decision was made without my common sense's involvement.

"I guess I didn't think of that." The lie's out of my mouth before I can stop it. How would I explain that to JJ? I haven't gotten far enough to explain it to myself.

"Are you going to tell him?" He asks cautiously.

"Too late for that now, J, we'll just have to see what happens, won't we? I just needed tell someone." I look pointedly at him, "Someone I can trust not to say anything," I raise a challenging eyebrow. _Make the right choice JJ._

He swallows once and shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, "I-I assure you, y-your secret is safe with me," He stutters with a cute, awkward smile. One eyebrow quirk and just like that, my normal, abnormal, JJ is back.

"Thanks for listening; you're a good friend JJ," I smile softly. "I should get going though, Emily will be off work in about half an hour and I've had enough of this place today." I give the old, beat up building a once over. Hopefully that didn't look as snobby as I think it did. I pat JJ on the shoulder gently, "See you later J," and start making my way home.

* * *

The tiny bell jingles softly as I push the door open. I fully intended on heading home, but this little Coffee shop, Courtney's Coffee, popped up on the way; I decided to enter this time.

"Hello again," Says the girl behind the counter. The people here sure do have a thing with friendly customer service, don't they? She's the same girl who gave me Emily's name; Charlie, the one with the ocean eyes.

"Hey." I try my best to smile like a normal person, like a person without secrets.

"Tea?" She asks, smiling at me genuinely. She'll never know who I am or where I just came here from; she'll never look twice.

"Yeah, please." I walk to the table at the far end of the coffee shop; the blue one in the far left corner that I've taken a particular liking to. Charlie brings my tea thirty seconds later.

"Sugar, milk, and honey are just on that table over there if you like," she points to a small table on the other side of the service counter that I haven't noticed before.

"Thanks," I nod. I'm half way to the table with my cup when the door jingles softly. I only hear it faintly in the back of my mind; I don't have any reason to care who it is.

"Hey!" Charlie greets whoever just came through the door enthusiastically, although there's a hint of surprise in her voice. My backs turned to whoever it is as I add some honey to my tea. "Haven't seen you for a while," The waitress says, calmer this time.

The honey dissolves easily due to the scalding nature of my tea. I pick up my cup carefully by the handle, determined not to spill any and burn myself, until I turn and actually see who's here.

"Yeah, sorry about that, a few things have happened, I've been a little busy," Emily says, obviously speaking to Charlie even though her eyes are set on me. "Hey, Naomi."

"Hey," I say, my eyes locking with hers, probably baring the same intensity, even if I'm unaware. "I was just waiting for your text."

"I was just going to grab a coffee on my way. Charlie?" She looks at the waitress, who's now back behind the counter.

"You got it," Charlie replies.

Emily walks to the table I was sitting at and sits down in the chair opposite of the one I was sitting in. "I see you've taken a liking to my table then?" I ask teasingly.

"You mean, _my_ table," Emily says in the same playful tone, quirking an eyebrow. "I've sat at this table," she taps the blue-clothed surface with her fingers, "A lot longer than you have, Campbell." Charlie appears and puts Emily's coffee down. Emily smiles her thanks and turns her attention back on me. "So, got any specific plans for tonight then?"

I shake my head, "Not really; let's just try to get in his good books. After we get ourselves acquainted at the club, the next step is arranging something at their place so I can hopefully get a chance to go through his things. Oh, and by the way, I hope you don't mind, I invited my best friend, Effy. She's great, really, you'll like her."

"If you say so; anyway, let's go. I want to start getting ready; we'll go early if we have to, let's just get going," she says, pushing her chair out and standing up.

"I've only finished half my tea!" I protest.

"You'll survive," she says, grabbing her coffee, which the bitch intentionally got in a to-go cup, with one hand and my wrist with the other. She pulls me to my feet and leads me towards the door. I smile quickly at Charlie as Emily yells "See you Charlie, thanks!" over her shoulder and drags me through the door. I hear Charlie chuckling lightly before it closes behind us.

* * *

An hour later, Emily, Effy and I are getting changed at Emily's flat. We stopped at my place on the way to grab my things and pick up Eff, I told Emily she couldn't come in; I'm not ready for her to see my flat. When we arrived at her place, the three of us ended up sitting with Cook for like forty-five minutes before he fucked off to go do god knows what. I have no idea what Effy's impression of Cook is, but going by the amount of times she brushed him off when he tried it on with her, I'd say she's not interested. As for Emily, they've already met, but I think Eff likes her. Eff and I are in Emily's bathroom now getting changed while Emily's doing the same in her bedroom. There's a large makeup kit overflowing with small, square cases and multiple brushes crammed underneath the sink. A small eye shadow case is lying open on the corner of the sink, full of faint purples. It's sort of an emotional picture when you piece together what it implies. It provokes this strong pull in my chest. It's anger mostly; fury towards the injustice that this girl has to live with, but there's something more, something bigger, something personal.

Protection.

"You alright?" Effy's skeptical, but concerned gaze meets my eyes in the mirror.

The pull in my chest is a mixture between want and need. A sudden need to destroy whatever or whoever threatens Emily, and a sudden want to physically protect her; to shield her in my embrace from the dangers that complicate her life. The battling feelings are setting a fire in the center of my chest that slowly spreads with each second, consuming my instinct to reject the rampaging feelings.

"Fine," I smile weakly at Effy, still looking in the mirror. She shrugs and goes back to changing, but don't think I missed the flash of a smirk on those lips. A knock on the door startles me out of my staring match with my reflection.

"Almost done?" The fire crackles at the sound of Emily's muffled, heavy voice. It causes my throat to dry out. It makes me cough.

"Yeah," I croak, then clear my through, "Just a sec." I shake my head once and, standing straight again, I avoid Effy's eyes at all costs as I struggle to zip up the back of my dress. Finally, after too many pathetic, failed attempts, I surrender. "Could you…?" I ask Effy with a sigh, pointing to my back. She zips up the back of my dress without saying anything, she doesn't look at me but her expression is hard; she's hiding her true emotion. To say that's not what I expected from her is an understatement.

My dress is a dark blue, strapless, v-neck that ends at my knees and hugs my body. It's nothing fancy, just something I bought on sale with Eff weeks ago. Effy, on the other hand, looks effortlessly gorgeous in a plain, light grey summer dress that ends just above her knees and shows her figure in a loose, comfortable way without suffocating her body. I don't think she did anything to her hair except curl it a little.

"There, all beautified and ready to go," Eff smiles and smacks my butt lightly before going to open the door.

The second Effy's fingers touch the knob, my shoulders, my jaw, and my heart tense all at the same time. I know what's going to happen, I can deny it all I want, but it's inevitable. The second I see her, it's just like the time we caught each other's eye in Courtney's Coffee; time slows down, and then freezes. The only difference is, this time, the fire in my chest crackles as well. Effy's not even here anymore, not now, not in this moment.

Emily's wearing a dress that looks like mine, except that it's black and the straps are thinner. Her hair isn't straightened or curled, just falling carelessly, like she didn't touch it at all; I think I like it best that way. It suits her and emphasizes the fact that she clearly doesn't have to make an effort; unlike my hair, which I just threw up in a ponytail because I'm too stubborn to try anything else with it.

The fire in my chest rages into an inferno when I meet her eyes; they're always the most impacting. I still don't understand what this is, this slow motion, eye contact shit. It's like my brain doesn't understand why my heart rate speeds up, why my throat goes dry and my breath hitches, and why my body stills and sets on fire when my mind is empty and confused. It's doing my fucking head in; I have no warning or control over when it's going to happen.

"I just need to do my make up," Emily says quietly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," I mutter, moving out of her way, "C'mon Eff."

The bathroom door clicks softly as Emily closes it and I decide that creating as much distance between us as I can at the moment is a fantastic idea.

Five minutes later, Effy and I are sitting on the farthest couch as Emily emerges from the hallway with a subtly enhanced face, not that she needs it. She's also wearing a jean jacket and carrying a black purse over her shoulder.

"I called Katie while I was in there, she and Freddie are already there," Emily says, walking towards the door.

Effy and I get up to follow her. As Emily opens the door for us, it causes a small gust of wind to blow our way, bringing the smell of Emily, and Emily's perfume, with it. I cough again.

This is insane.

* * *

It is dark out by the time we get there, not that it's a problem, thanks to the blaring lights emitting from the club. I've been to this one before; I actually made a bust around the back of it once.

"There they are," Emily says, trying to talk over the muffled thump of the music and pointing to a couple at the front of the line. Katie's smiling so excitedly it looks like it may just split her face in half. Emily smiles back, not as enthusiastic, but just as genuine; I don't think I've ever seen her smile like that.

She jogs up to her sister and they latch onto each other in such an embrace you'd think they'd been separated for years. When they break apart, I notice Katie's eye's flicker over to me, then she mumbles something in some sort of foreign language to her sister, her eyes still flicking over to me now and then. Emily mumbles back, speaking in the same odd speech. Then Katie looks at Effy, and does the same thing; she mumbles something I don't understand to her sister, only this time she doesn't look suspicious and her eyes don't flicker, they just stay on Effy. It takes Emily touching her arm to snap her attention back. This entire moment has to be some sort of freaky twin communication shit.

When I look back at Effy in hopes of maybe catching a hint of her opinion on this odd situation, she's looking at Katie. Her expression is the same as it was earlier when we were changing in the bathroom; only this time her eyes are a little wider with surprise and a little more open with curiosity. I'll have to ask her about that later.

Turning my attention back to the source of my internal inferno, I notice the one thing I was supposed to be focussed on from the start, my subject, my target, my enemy; Freddie. He's standing behind Katie with his hands in the pockets of his dirty, worn jeans and a fake content smirk painted on his deceitful lips. He looks exactly like the picture Kieran showed us, only more disgusting in person. He looks up and catches me staring at him. Smiling, he offers his hand.

"Freddie," he says, completely missing my revolt. I felt Emily's eyes on me the second Freddie stirred from behind Katie. I reluctantly take his hand and shake it as he continues to smile at me, oblivious.

"Right," Katie interrupts, "Ems, you know Freds," Katie hugs Freddie's arm affectionately and I can't help the disgusting feeling of guilt at the sight. "But you two don't," she points at Eff and I, "So, this is Freddie, my boyfriend," she beams. It makes me slightly sick to my stomach.

"Right," I say, "Nice to meet you both. I'm Naomi, and this is Effy," I gesture behind me, hopefully in Effy's general direction.

"Cool," Freddie sneers, looking Effy up and down so subtly I'm the only one that notices.

"Alright, now we just have to wait for the brute over there to let us in," Katie mutters under her breath. "We were just about to walk in when he stopped us. Prick," she scoffs.

An idea comes to me at her words. It's not necessarily a good idea, but my job is to get on Freddie's good side, and it would be a good start. Plus, _technically_, job rules don't apply for the time being; _technically_, I'm not an agent; I'm off the job.

"Hang on," I tell the group, smiling mischievously. I walk over the bouncer and reach into my bra where I hid my badge, in case of emergency.

"I don't take bribes, lassie," he grunts at me.

"Oh, this," I say, taking a step closer, "Is no bribe." I flip the badge discreetly so I'm holding it right in front of my chest where it's hidden from anyone else's view. I bring up my other hand and press my index to my lips with a quirked eyebrow. "Get it?" I ask him. I watch his eye's un-squint as he finishes reading and widen in shock. "I need to get myself and that group there," I point behind me, towards Emily and the others "Into this club. Tonight." He stalls, contemplating whether he believes me or not. With one last glance at my badge, he nods once and moves to the side.

"C'mon, you lot. In you all go," he bellows.

"Good choice," I whisper in his ear and pat his chest. The others follow me inside in a bubble of excited whispers. I lead them all through the massive crowd of obnoxious bodies and direct them to an empty seating area.

"What," Katie gawks at me once we're seated, "Was that?"

I only shrug in response, a small, amused smile on my lips.

"I'm getting drinks," Emily announces, standing up. "Let's get fucked."

Everyone cheers and bangs on the table as Emily walks towards the bar.

An hour, four pints, about twelve tequila shots, and five bathroom breaks later, and Emily is well passed intoxicated. I, myself, have only had enough to give me a buzz. I might be _allowed _to drink and take drugs, but that doesn't mean I'm going to. I'm not letting my guard down, especially not when Emily's in such a vulnerable state. Speaking of Emily, you don't know the meaning of the words seductive and sexy until you've seen that girl dance. Effy and Katie have sat together talking all night, Freddie is somewhere I know I should be too, because that's sort of my job, but I've watched Emily dance all night from the bar instead. She takes the saying 'Dance like No One's Watching' seriously, except instead of being a ridiculous, frantic dancer, she's a hypnotic, lost in her own world dancer. When she dances, her body glows with freedom and shines with bliss, her obvious lack of care for other people's opinions radiates off her in toxic waves that hypnotize you. She's like a drug; a contagious drug.

I feel a little like a stalker, just sitting at the bar alone, watching her dance. Although, I do stalk people for a living, so I guess it's acceptable. Or I'm lying to myself. I continue to watch as she raises her hands above her head, swaying to the song on her own little cloud. I feel the heat cooking almost every inch of skin I have, freeze over and turn to goosebumps as a pair of hands wrap around her waist. Those hands don't belong, they weren't invited and they aren't welcome. The same anger and compulsion to protect begin to flicker in my chest. Regardless of the discomfort those hands caused me, a smile spreads across my face at the sight of Emily roughly ripping them off her and pushing the offender away, who's apparently not used to being rejected.

I can't tell what either of them is saying; it's like watching a fight on mute. The man is throwing his arms all over the place in frustration, while Emily's fists are clenched at her sides in suppressed rage as they both scream at each other. The flicker in my chest builds into a flare, but I know it's none of my business. The man takes a step closer and grabs Emily's wrist aggressively and that's all it takes for the flare to consume my senses. I jump from my seat but before I can take a step, a voice stops me.

"That was a cool trick you pulled earlier," Freddie says, sitting next to me.

"Uh, thanks," I say, flicking my eyes over to Emily.

"How long have you known her?" He asks.

"Few weeks now," I rush out anxiously.

"Oh yeah, cool. How'd you meet?"

"Party," I lie.

"Those Fitch girls sure are something, hey?" He sighs, faking a loving smile. I check on Emily again, she's still struggling to free her wrist from the older man's grip. I won't let her leave my sight.

"Yeah, they are, look I-"

"I wouldn't get too attached, Naomi," Freddie interrupts.

"I'm sorry?"

"Emily doesn't do relationships," he says seriously.

"I gathered." That one wasn't a lie.

"Even if she did, it'd hurt. With that girl comes pain, Naomi, trust me. It'd be better for everyone if you just kept your distance."

"Right." I can hear what he's saying, but I'm not really retaining the words, I'm too busy scanning the crowd for Emily again. When I find her, the man has his hand in the air.

It happens in slow motion; his hand comes down and regardless of everything else, I hear the smack pulse through the heap of people before it rings in my ears with the same insistence as my alarm clock. Then, everything happens at once.

The fire sparks and builds until the furious roar of the flames is all I hear, every other sense shuts off and I see nothing but red before my eyes find Emily again. Without another word to Freddie, I sprint away from the bar and closer to Emily as fast as possible. The second I'm through the people obstructing my path, I waste no time knocking the abusive cunt to the ground.

"You fucking," I kick him hard in the stomach. "Abusive, inconsequential," Another boot, in the chest this time, "Narrow-minded, arrogant," I stomp as hard as I can on his ribs, he yelps at that one. "Stupid fucking worthless piece of shit!" I scream. Then, because all that matters in this moment is Emily's safety, I kick him in the face hard enough that his nose starts gushing so fast I have to jump back to avoid getting blood on my foot. Breathing heavily, I back away from the curled up, naïve man who was unfortunate enough to get on my bad side. A giggle behind me is what reminds me I still have Emily to deal with.

"That," she slurs, "Was the coolest thing EVER!" She yells. She steps towards me and almost immediately loses her footing. Jolting forward, I catch her under her arms just before her knees hit the ground. I sigh and wrap her arms around my neck so I can stand us both up straight again.

"What am I going to do with you, Emily?" I ask her semi-conscious form. I stand there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of having Emily in my arms, of knowing that no matter what happens, in this moment, I'm here.

I keep her steady and navigate us through the crowd that has formed around us since my attack and over to where Effy and Katie have sat together all night.

"I'm going to take Emily back to ours, Eff. She's well done for the night," I tell my best friend. She just nods. "Is that alright Katie?" I ask just to make sure.

"Is she alright?" Katie asks, a hint of panic in her voice.

"Fine; just a bit too much to drink is all." Emily wriggles in my grip a bit, then giggles.

"Alright, just get her to call me tomorrow."

"Will do, Katie. See you later Eff."

I limp along with Emily through the club until we're outside, smiling at the man by the door who let us in as I pass him. I hail a cab quickly enough, settle Emily in the back seat, and get in next to her. She giggles the whole way home.

* * *

I know I said I wasn't ready for Emily to see my flat, I'm still not, but just because she trusts Cook, doesn't mean I do. I know I'll feel better if I'm close to her right now, and I don't want to think about why, I just want to go to bed. I don't really have anywhere else to go. She's coherent enough to walk to the elevator, but by the time it reaches my floor and the doors slowly open with a ding, she's passed out.

Bending over, I wrap an arm under her knees while the other supports her back, and lift her off the ground as carefully as I can with a small grunt. Making sure her head is resting properly against my chest, I begin to carry her, one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees, down the hall, to my room. I manage the lock after a few frustrating attempts and thank whatever deity exists that I didn't drop the keys. I walk to my room as soon as the door's open and set Emily down as gently as I can on my bed. I know Effy has her own key, so I make sure the doors locked before taking off my shoes and getting changed.

When I head to my room to grab a large T and some clean underwear, the sight of Emily sleeping on my bed stops me in my tracks by effectively stealing all the air from my lungs. The same would happen to you if you walked in your room to a passed out Emily Fitch, curled up in a ball with her hands scrunched up in little fists and tucked under her chin. Instead of continuing on my initial path to my dresser, my feet take me to my bed without my consent; not that I'm complaining. I sit next to her and watch her chest rise and fall as the sound of just her steady breathing makes the room irresistible instead of terrifying.

I've been sitting here, watching her sleep for probably longer than a few minutes. It's interesting; instead of the look of relaxation and peace most people have when they sleep, Emily looks agitated. Her eyebrows scrunch now and then, forming little wrinkles in her forehead. I'd say it was cute if she didn't look so uncomfortable.

She wriggles a little, unexpectedly, and it makes me jump. A quiet whimper replaces the tedious sound of her breathing, and she shuffles closer to me. It takes her actually grabbing one of my wrists to make me jump off the bed. She whimpers once more and settles back into a more sound sleep. Shaking my head, I grab what I came for and change quickly in the hallway. I throw my dress in the wash and go back to my room to cover Emily up. After pulling the blankets securely around her shoulders with full, honest intentions of leaving the room immediately, I can't help kneeling next to the bed and taking the opportunity to observe her freely just one more time.

"You're safe now," I whisper. "I won't let anything hurt you."

My hand is millimeters away from brushing some of her tussled, sleep hair behind her ear when I realize what I'm doing. Snapping my hand back, I stand up.

"This was always going to be a bad idea," I whisper more to myself than to her. I grab a pillow off my bed and a blanket from the hallway closet, and make a bed on the couch. It's not nearly as comfortable as my bed, but it'll do.

I meant what I said; this _was_ always going to be a bad idea. Lying to Kieran was the wrong thing to do, but not because of the assignment. I knew, the second I saw Emily properly for the first time in Courtney's, that it wouldn't be the last time I saw her; I wouldn't be surprised if Effy figured that out as well. Effy's not home yet, but she's going to get a kick out of this one. Secretive, badass, FBI agent Naomi Campbell has given up her bed for a girl. This one will earn me a two thousand watt smirk, I guarantee it. The most infuriating aspect of the smirk to come is the honesty in its purpose for being there. She's going to smirk at me because she's going to know. She knows I've never done anything like this before; usually I just let people deal with themselves. When she smirks at me tomorrow she's going to know that even though I'm not supposed to do this, even though I never feel _compelled_ to do this, the reason I'm doing it now, even though I'll claim otherwise, isn't because I _have_ to protect Emily.

It's because I want to.

* * *

**Thanks for sticking with me guys, you're all amazing :)**

**~Shae.**


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